Sherlock returns
by Sofia777
Summary: Sherlock and John reunite. It is not as easy as they thought it would be... The story is a bit heavy in the beginning but it gets better. Cases, friendship, awkwardness and anything else you might request :) New: chapter 13: jonhlock...
1. Chapter 1

As you all know: I don't owe anything. Just my imagination ;)

1.

It had been a year. One whole year. There were times John Watson could not believe it was already 365 days ago that he saw his best friend jump of that roof. It felt like yesterday. Every day it felt like yesterday. For the outside world it seemed he had moved on: had a job as a doctor, be it part-time; he still lived at 221b Baker Street, but the apartment was darker and emptier without Sherlock's things; he dated occasionally; and even the limp, that had returned after the Sherlock's death, had disappeared over time.

Inside however John knew he never really moved on. He just moved. Life moved because he couldn't stop it. He could of course. And he had considered to do that. But he just couldn't take his own life and it felt like a cowardly thing to do (and he occasionally thought of Sherlock as coward for doing it, but those thoughts only caused him more pain).

Sleeping was difficult. He could not distract himself when he lay in bed, staring at the darkness. John knew that he would never get over watching his friend die. He knew he would never get the imagine of Sherlock's blooded face on the pavement out of his head. Nor the sound of him hitting the hard stone ground. Nor the feeling of his risk without his heart pulsing underneath it. But he also knew that life goes on and he had to make the best of it. So for the past months that was what he had tried to do. He had tea with Mrs Hudson every week at least once. She talked about her hip and John talked about his work. Sometimes they talked about Sherlock. Always about the good times. Never about the end. DI Lestrade had stayed in touch and occasionally he asked John's opinion about cases, but John knew it was out of pity and after a while he and Greg just got together for a beer every now and then. Mycroft also tended to call every week. Courtesy call, as John well knew, and he started only picking up every other week. There was never much he and Mycroft had to say to each other.

Today should be like all other days, John told himself. It does not make a difference that it is exactly one year ago. It should not hurt more than any other day. And, strangely enough, it didn't. The day passed by quickly due to a flu epidemic keeping him busy at work (he had arranged months ago to work this weekend to provide himself with a distraction). At the end of his swift, around six in the evening, John felt surprisingly little depressed. He even decided to pass by Sherlock's grave on his way home. He did not visit it much. It was nothing for John to stand by a stone and talk as if there was actually someone listing. Every time he thought back about the one time he did that, just after Sherlock's death, begging for him to come back, he felt stupid and ashamed. He never brought flowers or plants, and the grave was always clean, cold and without any sign of visitors. He didn't assume there was anyone regularly visiting the grave, so he was surprised to see a man standing next to the stone when he arrived. His wondering as to who the visitor was took only a second, as a black umbrella the man was leaning on gave him away.

'Good evening Doctor Watson' Mycroft said without looking up.

'Mycroft.' John stayed a bit behind him. Maybe Mycroft wanted some privacy for his grieve, but instead he saw a slight smile on his face when he turned to John.

'I was waiting for you. I knew you would come today, doctor. Good day at the hospital I see.'

'It was okay. I don't come here much. If you wanted to see me you could have called.'

'But not today. Today you would come.'

John didn't respond. Mycroft did not seem to be grieving. But then again, John had never detected any sign of emotion from him after the death of his brother.

'Doctor Watson, would you mind talking a walk with me?' Mycroft asked polite but since he already started walking he did not really needed any answer from John.

'Mycroft' John said as he walked quickly to keep up with him, 'I don't really feel like a talk right now. Maybe we can meet tomorrow.'

'No doctor Watson,' Mycroft said simply, 'I am sure you want to hear what I have to say to you tonight. I wish I could have told you before but unfortunately the circumstances did not allow it.' They kept walking, Mycroft seemed to be going somewhere. On one side of the graveyard there was a small pond where they stopped.

'What do you mean?' John asked. 'What is it?'

'It is about Sherlock, John.' Mycroft turned to the doctor with a grave expression on his face. John frowned. 'What about Sherlock?'

Mycroft did not say anything. He just turned and looked across the pond. John followed his stare. On the other side of the water stood a man. A tall man with dark hair in a long coat. His hands were behind his back and the collar of his coat was up. He was looking at John. John blinked. And blinked again. 'It can't be…' he murmured. 'It can't be…'

'John', said Mycroft next to him, 'I know this might be a bit of a shock and more explaining should be done…' but John did not listen. His eyes were betraying him. They must be. It can't be that he is seeing a man on the other side of the pond who he also saw jumping to his death a year ago. Mycroft kept talking '…and I told him to let me tell you more, but, as you know, he is too suborn for anyone to tell him how to do things.' John did not hear him. He started walking around the pond to get to the man he still didn't believe to be Sherlock. He felt his feet started running until he stood in front of the man. Sherlock. Thinner, paler, dark circles under his eyes, but Sherlock none the less. Smiling at him.

'Hello John. Good to see you.'

John couldn't breathe. He had a thousand questions, but at the same time he still didn't believe it was real, so he just stared.

Sherlock stopped smiling and gazed over the pond. 'Breathe. And then say something John. You look ridiculous like that.'

John swallowed and shook his head. 'Sh..sherlock?'

Sherlock turned to him. 'Who else? Honestly, must you stare at me like that? I feel like..'

But John never found out what Sherlock felt like. He raised his left arm and punch Sherlock in the face. The blow had only a small part of his anger behind it, but it was enough to make Sherlock fall to the ground, just next to the pond. He looked up to John with one hand to his bleeding nose. Now it was Sherlock staring at John in amazement while John screamed at him: 'One year Sherlock! One whole year! You bloody bastard!' He starting walking away and when heard Sherlock calling his name he turned and yelled over his shoulder: 'Don't follow me or I'll throw you in the bloody pond, Sherlock! I swear!'

John run out of the grave yard. He tried to pace himself but he was too wired, too angry, too shocked to make himself slow down. Sherlock was alive. Alive. He had never died. For a whole year he was not dead. All this pain… guilt… sadness that he had been feeling… it was unnecessary because Sherlock Holmes had been alive all this time, he just didn't tell his friend. John was furious and also, somewhat, hurt… He didn't know how to define the feeling and he did not want to feel it, but he couldn't ignore the voice in his head telling him Sherlock just didn't care about him and about how he had felt these last 12 months. 'What did you expect?' the voice nagged, 'for him to confide in you? Has he ever really done that?' John slowed down and tried to take deep breathes. Sherlock was alive. That was all that mattered right now. Maybe he should go back so he could get answers. Surely there must be some reason for all this. Maybe he could just know the how and why, and then cut Sherlock out of his life forever. Anyone who can do this to a person they claim to be friends with isn't worth it! John was still so angry! But also curious…. He looked around. Where was he anyway? When did it become so dark? When did it start drizzling? John stood motionless and in doubt in the middle of the sidewalk. But then his curiosity and (-he couldn't lie to himself-) excitement to see his friend (or ex-friend?) and hear his story got the overhand and he started walking back to the graveyard. He suddenly felt his phone buzz in his pocket and took it out to look at the message. It was from Mycroft, or at least, from Mycroft's number.

_'Come back and let me explain. Don't be childish! SH'_

That last part stung a little, but since he was already on his way back John decided not to let it bother him for now. When he arrived back at the pond Mycroft was gone. Sherlock was sitting on a bench, staring over the water. When he heard John coming he looked at him and got up. When John came closed he saw Sherlock's nose was still a bit bloody. The red blood accentuated his pale face. John noticed he looked tired. Weak. He hadn't noticed that before. The expression on his friends' face was not one of regret or doubt. He looked at John as if he knew he would come back. Not unfriendly, but also definitely not as taken over by emotions as John was.

'You better have a hell of an explanation for what you've put me through Sherlock!' Said John while trying to stay calm and suppress the urge to punch him in the face again (going for the teeth this time, Miss Adler would be surprised).

'John…' Sherlock started, 'I owe you so much more than an apology... So much more than an explanation…' He sat down on the bench again and John followed him, burying his hands in his face. 'How could you do this to me Sherlock? I thought we were friends? Why the bloody hell did you have to do it like this?' He looked up at his friend, his face demanded an answer. Sherlock leaned back in the bench and gazed over the pond. 'I hardly know how to begin.'

'At the beginning.' John urged. 'What happened on the rooftop?'

Sherlock took a deep breath and started his story.

The two man sat at the bench until darkness had takeover and the drizzle had faded. Sherlock talked and talked, and John listened, occasionally interrupting him with questions. Molly's role in the whole affair explained her absence from John's life, and Mycroft's knowledge of his brother being alive gave John a bit of reassurance as to his capability of having emotions. Sherlock explained he had been hunting Moriarty's men for the last eleven months, and then came back to London to see John. Mycroft had been against it, claiming that Sherlock should leave John alone, but Sherlock did not even bother to elaborate on why he had not listened to his brother.

After his story he and John sat in silence for a while. Each taking in by their own thoughts. Until John asked: 'And now what? Why did you come back, Sherlock?'

Sherlock did not immediately respond.

'I thought you might be pleased to know I am not dead. Maybe you will sleep better.'

'I'm sleeping fine.'

'Don't lie to me John. I could tell from across the pond that you don't!'

'Well, you don't look like you've been living the healthiest life either.'

'I'm fine.'

'Don't lie to me Sherlock.'

Sherlock stared at the doctor for a few second before a smile broke through his face. John couldn't help but to smile back, but he hated himself for it. 'Jesus, Sherlock, I hate you, you know that?'

'No you don't.' Sherlock said simply. 'But I see you are still angry with me.'

'You're damn right I am.'

John sighed. 'But you are right, I am also pleased to know you are alive.'

Sherlock smiled without looking at the doctor. 'I am also pleased you know that now. And I forgive you for hitting me in the face.'

'You forgive me?!' John shook his head. 'You're a bastard, Sherlock Holmes, and a lousy friend and I definitely have not forgiven you yet.'

'That's okay John. I know you will, eventually.'

'Does that mean you're back then?'

Sherlock looked at John and smiled. 'Yes, John, I am back. Is that okay with you?'

'It does not seem like it matters if I'm okay with things or not, does it now?' John got up. 'I think I need some time to process all this, Sherlock. I'm sure you'll know where to reach me if you want to.'

Sherlock didn't respond. He just looked over the dark water.

'Fine then.' John said. 'Good night, Sherlock.'

Sherlock didn't move. 'Good night, John.'

Please let me know if I should continue with the rest of the story, or if I'm just writing for myself :)


	2. Chapter 2

2.

John walks home. It is dark, cold and it started drizzling again, but he hardly notices. His mind is spinning. How is this possible? Is this really happening? He is so shocked and at the same time he feels like kicking himself for not seeing it earlier, for not knowing before that of course the great, arrogant, narcissistic Sherlock Holmes would not kill himself. Of course Molly had another blooded, bashed up body there while Sherlock, of course, jumped into the truck with garbage next to the bus stop. John couldn't see the switch because, of course, he was run over by a biker. How convenient. John Watson felt stupid. And angry. At Sherlock but also at himself. He felt stupid for being so upset and immediately believing what had happened. How could he not see through Sherlock's tricks by now? He felt angry because Sherlock had left him in that painful illusion while going after the bad guys by himself. Confiding only in Mycroft, of all people!

John reached Baker Street just when he started to realize how cold he was. He really needed to sit in front of the fire for a while and sort out his thoughts about all this. because despite anger and frustration John also felt a happiness that bounced inside of him like a tennis ball. A warmth, a light, a comforting feeling that his best friend was still alive and he would see him again. Probably not soon though. He needed some time.

John unlocked the door and went upstairs. Quietly, not to wake mrs Hudson. He would tell her the good news in the morning, or maybe Sherlock would do that himself.

On the top of the stairs John stopped. The door the apartment was slightly open and the light of the fire flickered behind it. There was someone there. But who? No. No it could not be. John pushed the door further open and looked into the room.

'Sherlock!'

On the couch, as if nothing had happened, Sherlock was lying in his blue dressing-gown. He didn't respond when John started yelling at him. 'What the hell are you doing here?'

Sherlock sight in annoyance. 'I LIVE here, John. You don't mind, do you?'

'But I live here!' John couldn't believe this. He was back for a few hours and already managed to annoy him. 'I told you I needed time to think.'

Sherlock opened his eyes. 'And just where do you suggest I go then?'

'To Mycroft or something.'

'Don't be ridiculous, John.' Sherlock closed his eyes again. 'You'll hardly notice I'm here.'

'That will be kinda difficult, since you're on my couch.'

'Our couch.'

'No Sherlock. My couch. You died. Or left. Or whatever. And now this is my couch.'

Sherlock did not move or respond in any way to John's ranting. 'Ow fine.' John inhaled deeply and decided to just go to bed. He couldn't deal with this right now. 'Fine. You're… You're really unbelievable Sherlock. Really unbelievable.' He started walking to the stairs. 'I don't know why I expected anything different from you.' He run upstairs and slammed the door.

'Neither do I, John.' Sherlock murmured. 'Neither do I.'

John was way too angry to go to sleep. This was too much. Too unreal. Too hurtful. Here he was, having been grieving over his best friend for months, and now Sherlock just shows up, tells his story and apparently expects John to let him back into his life as if nothing had happened? How can he be so cold? So emotionless. In some of his daydreams he had thought about the scenario where he would see Sherlock again. Of course John had never expected his cold, seemingly emotionless friend to hug him, while crying how much he had missed him. Of course not. But at least a bit of emotion. Anything to show John that he was not the only one hurt and saddened by their separation. All this time he had comforted himself with the thought that he had known the real Sherlock Holmes. That he knew the man was not always cold and seemingly heartless.

_-I know you for real._

_-100%_

_-And no one can fake being such an annoying dick all the time._

He could still hear their conversation in his head. How many times had he not played it back to himself as if it was a movie. He knew Sherlock wasn't a fake. Sherlock knew John knew that. How many night had he not tossed and turned being unable to sleep because of this nagging feeling… I should have said that to him. Over the phone. While he was on the roof. I should have screamed at him: I don't care. I don't care if you are a fake or not. You are my best friend and I won't let you bloody kill yourself.

But he hadn't said that. It wouldn't have mattered. Sherlock had a plan. As always. And he had left John completely out of it. And now he was back. Lying on the couch as if he belonged there. And instead of being happy John was just angry. So angry that he could put his fist through a wall. In fact, he considered doing so when his phone buzzed. John looked at the text. It was from Sherlock.

_'Tea? SH'_

'Bloody hell?!' John said to himself. 'What the _fuck_ is he thinking?' He yanked the door open and run down the stairs. Sherlock was in the kitchen, making tea. 'What the hell do you think you're doing?' He could hardly keep his voice steady. 'What does it look like, John? Don't ask stupid questions.'

'Sherlock,' John leaned to the kitchen table. This was too much. Just too much. 'Sherlock, please leave.'

Sherlock turned to him with an annoyed look on his face. 'What?'

'Please, just leave. Go stay at Mycroft. At Molly's. At a hotel.' He was suddenly so tired.

'I haven't spoken to Molly in months, and you know I can't stay with Mycroft. Tedious.' Sherlock turned back to the kettle without paying attention to John.

'Fine.' John sighed again. Defeated. 'Fine. Then I'll leave.' His anger had drained away and he just felt tired and sad. In fact, he could even feel his throat closing up. He walked to the door when he heard Sherlock behind him. 'Don't leave! Why would you leave? We have always lived here together. What has changed now?'

'What has changed?!' John yelled. 'What has changed?! What the bloody hell do you think has changed? You were dead Sherlock. Dead. I saw you jump of a building. I saw you lying dead on the pavement with your head bashed in.'

'I explained to you: that wasn't me.' Sherlock sighed as if John was not understanding one of his experiments, but John ranted on. 'But I thought it was you, you bastard!' He yelled. 'I thought I was holding my best friends risk in my hand and there was no pulse! For a year I grieved! I cried! I was angry! With myself! For not helping you! For making you feel alone enough to commit fucking suicide! For making you think that we were only friends because you are brilliant and we solve crimes together. I blamed myself. I hated myself. And I missed you so much. And now here you are. Back in baker Street. On the couch, making tea, giving me your usual annoyed looks as if I am somehow making this into something more difficult than it really is. But I am not Sherlock. I am not. You might not be aware or capable of normal human emotions when it comes to friends returning after supposed suicide, but I do! And this is not it, Sherlock. You cannot walk in here like nothing has happened! You just can't.' John hit the doorframe to emphasize his last words. Sherlock stared at him. Not even that shocked at his friend's outburst. The kettle still in his hand. He slowly lifted one eyebrow. 'I take it that is a no for the tea then.'

Sherlock disappeared into the kitchen, leaving John frustrated in the doorway. John felt too tired. He had to sleep. He couldn't deal with any of this right now. He went upstairs, changed into his pyjamas and fell into his bed. His head was spinning. His throat was dry, but closed. He felt like tears were stuck somewhere, but he didn't have to cry at all. This was all so strange. So different then he had ever expected to see his friend again. Not that he ever really expected this at all. Sherlock was just to inhuman to understand his anger. Just when he wanted to close his eyes his phone buzzed at his night stand. A text.

_'I am sorry to make you angry, John. SH'_

John exhaled. Maybe writing was the way to go.

_'You can't see at all why this situation is frustrating for me? JW'_

_'No. To be honest I expected you to be a bit more pleased. Especially since your life has been obviously dull without me. SH'_

_'It is not! JW'_

_'The state of the couch, telly and kettle say otherwise. SH'_

_'Don't change the subject. JW'_

_'Are you pleased to see me again? At all? JW'_

_'Sure. SH'_

_'Convincing… JW'_

_'Must we go into to these… feelings… now John? So tiresome. SH'_

John sighed. The man hadn't changed a bit. If anything, he had become worse.

_'Yes we do. Maybe that's why you don't understand my anger. I thought you were my friend. My best friend…' _John stared at the message and then erased the last sentence. Send.

_'I am your friend. SH'_

_'You didn't tell me anything about your plan. You let me believe you were dead. And now you show up here asking if I want tea?' _

_'Well, it's too late for that now. I'm in bed. SH'_

_'You know my point, Sherlock!'_

_'Fine. SH'_

_'I am sorry. SH'_

_'Thank you. And we will talk about this more later. JW'_

_'Looking forward to it. SH'_

_'Sarcasm does not suit you. And neither does that dressing-gown, you've become too skinny. Bet you haven't been eating at all this year? JW'_

_'Good night, John. SH'_


	3. Chapter 3

_I own nothing, the usual!_

3.

In the days that followed it became easier. Not easy. But a bit better every day. It was like a truce was established. John went to work. Sherlock stayed at home and… John didn't really know what Sherlock was doing. Clearing his name most likely. Mrs. Hudson was very happy to see Sherlock again. She was not nearly as angry as John but angry enough to try to hit Sherlock with one hand while pressing a tissue to her tears with the other. Every morning she brought them breakfast, saying it was just for that day ('Still not your housekeeper, dear.') and tea in the evening. John did not see much of Sherlock with his work in the hospital, but of course he couldn't escape the signs of Sherlock all around the house, most noticeably the kitchen. In an attempt to keep the carefully established peace between them he had not even yelled at his flat-mate when two feet neatly stared at him from the fridge one morning. They were placed as if the owner had just stepped out of them and could return any moment. The smell was horrible, but his humoristic 'Maybe time to clear your feet?' was not received with any response by Sherlock. The sound of the violin was the only thing John really enjoyed of Sherlock's return. The instrument had always stayed in the house. Waiting for his owner. John had never dared to try to play it. As if he knew Sherlock would one day return and be able to tell if anyone had handled it. John had kept it clean though. It was like a silent companion, but a hundred times better than the skull, which John had placed in Sherlock's bedroom, but it had found its way back to the mantelpiece in the first days of his owner's return.

It made John sad to realize that he actually only enjoyed the sound of the violin from Sherlock's return. He had expected to get his best friend back, but it seemed like they were living in the same house, but still miles apart. They did not work on cases anymore, since as far as John knew, Sherlock's name had not been cleared. He had laughed after receiving a message from DI Lestrade an hour after Sherlock had left to see him. _Bloody hell, John. You could have informed me about this before, you know! Anderson would have been grateful.' _A call to the Detective Inspector informed him Sherlock had sneaked up on Anderson and softly said: Hello Anderson, joining me in the afterlife? in his ear. John laughed out loud and wished he had been there. But Sherlock had not asked him to come with him. And John had not offered. The state of their friendship was pitiful at best, but John did not really know what to do about it. Strangle enough, John's nightmares about the war, mixed with Sherlock killing himself, started coming back. He found himself waking up in sweat, gasping for air like he had been running a marathon. He was sure Sherlock knew. Sherlock knew everything and his sharp, deducing eyes were able to tell from one look at John that he was suffering at night. But he never said it. He never made any comment or observation about John. At first, John was thankful for this, but after a few days it started to bother him. It was so unlike Sherlock to not comment on everything he noticed. But then again, it wasn't unlike Sherlock to not speak for days. Of course, they couldn't go on like this for long. John knew this and he was waiting for the right moment to start the conversation. However, it came in a way he did not expect. One evening, after a long day in the hospital, John came home hungry and tired. Sherlock was lying on the couch with his eyes closed, but John could tell he wasn't sleeping. He did not respond to Johns greetings, or him asking from the kitchen: 'Anything in to eat?' John walked back to the couch and repeated his question, but Sherlock just mildly shook his head without opening his eyes. 'Fine.' John said, more to himself than to his friend. 'Fine. Ignore me. Again. It's so nice to have you back, you know.' He added the last sarcastic comment more for himself as he assumed Sherlock wasn't listening, but at this, Sherlock did respond. He opened his eyes. 'Would you stop it!' John looked up. 'Stop what?'

'The skulking. The passive aggressive anger towards me!' Sherlock sat up at the couch and looked angrily at John, but John wasn't intimidated. 'It might help if you would speak once in a while, Sherlock. You simply ignore me. And yes, I am still angry with you.'

Sherlock snapped back: 'I know you are. But you shouldn't be. After everything I did for you.'

'Everything you did for me? You mean lying to me for months and months and then coming back as if nothing happened? Yes, you're right, that's a lot to be thankful for.'

'I protected you!' Sherlock shouted at him while getting up from the couch. John shouted back: 'Maybe at first but that didn't need a year, Sherlock! Besides, I have been in danger before, I can take care of myself. You did what you did without considering to include me in it. You didn't confide in me because you don't care. I consider myself your friend, but what am I to you? You don't even feel the need to..' But Sherlock did not let him finish and yelled: 'I did what I had to do to protect you. Because you_ are_ my friend. My _only_ friend. When I was at that rooftop with Moriarty and he told me my friends would die if I didn't I thought about _you_! Sure, there are Lestrade and Mrs Hudson, but I thought of you!' Sherlock turned away from John to the window, seemingly in an attempt to calm himself, but his voice was still hard and angry when he spoke again. 'When we were in Baskerville, and I told you I don't have _friends_, I just have one. I meant you.' He put both hands against the window frame and leaned to it while staring into Baker Street. 'I never had a friend before you and apparently I am not doing this right if you are seriously questioning what you are to me, John. I came back and acted like nothing has happened because it was always obvious for me that I would come back here, to Baker Street, to you. It was the conclusion, the last stage of the plan. I expected you to be angry at me but I never expected you to doubt my reasons for doing this. You told me it yourself, your last words to me before storming out of the lab that day… 'friends protect people'. I wanted to protect you. Maybe it was selfish of me to let you suffer for a year thinking that I was dead, but I preferred it over the suffering I would have to go through if you would actually die.' John was baffled. Too shocked to say anything. He opened his mouth looking for words, but nothing came out. Sherlock sat back at the couch, his elbows leaning on his knees while his hands ran through his dark curls. John was still standing in the middle of the room, avoiding looking at Sherlock, thinking about what to say. There was an awkward silence between them for a few minutes, until John formulated what was actually bothering him. 'You didn't show any of that…' But Sherlock immediately put his 'isn't-it-obvious' face on and snapped at the doctor. 'Of course not John. Don't be so stupid. You know I don't do.. sentiment.' He spit the last word at John as if it were an insult. John opened his mouth to respond but Sherlock was quicker. 'And I don't have to say it because you know this. You know me. You know that before I met you the police could hardly work with me because people have a hard time adjusting to me.' John wanted to say: 'You mean you have a hard time adjusting to people.' But he decided this wasn't the time for smart comebacks. Sherlock continued after a deep breath in a somewhat softer tone. 'You were my flat-mate, than you were my colleague and then you became my friend. None one has ever been any of those things to me, John. You gave me that real life.' John frowned. Sherlock's speech had made perfect sense. For once he understood everything the consulting detective had said. Until that last part…. There did not seem to follow an explanation so he decided to ask. 'Ehm Sherlock, what do you mean with that. A real life?' Annoyed face again. 'Keep up, John. I'm just referring to your own words to me.' John was still confused. Sherlock sighed in frustration. 'Angelo's. Our first dinner together. You told me what people have in their real lives and I have that now.' John realized his face must still betray he is clueless and so Sherlock quickly rambles on: 'Friends, which is you; people I know, like Molly; people I like, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson; people I don't like, Mycroft and Anderson.' And then John remembers. Of course. That first dinner at Angelo's. Right before that very awkward moment… 'Boyfriends. Girlfriends.' He adds. Sherlock scorns. 'Those are unimportant.' John decides to let that one go. After a brief silence he says, trying not to sound to smug: 'So I gave you a real life, he?' Sherlock shrugs. 'The point is that you are my colleague, my blogger, my friend and I…' He seems to search for words but his thoughts trail off.

John sits down next to him, leaning back into the couch with his hands behind his head. 'I missed you too, Sherlock.' Sherlock looks up. Annoyed. 'I didn't say-'

But John cuts him off: 'Yes you did.'

They stare at each other for a few seconds, Sherlock annoyed and John smiling at him, before Sherlock hesitantly smiles back. The familiar sparkle in his friends' grey eyes make John grin wider and laugh. Sherlock laughs too. The moment is broken by Sherlock's phone. He quickly picks up. 'Sherlock Holmes…. Ah, good evening Lestrade… No, not busy. We are on our way.' He closes his phone, jumps up from the couch and walks towards the stairs in his familiar, excited-for-a-case kind of way, before stopping in the doorway and turning towards John. 'We have a case. You coming?' John sighs. He is tired, hungry and it is raining outside. He gets up slowly and picks up his coat. 'Of course. You'd be lost without your blogger.'

Thanks for reading and sorry for the spelling mistakes! Sometimes my fingers can't keep up with the story playing in my head :)

Your reviews are highly appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4, the death of a genius

Thanks for the reviews!

This chapter is (hopefully) more fun than the previous ones. Less awkward and more like we know them. The plot is loosely based on a case in an old Dutch TV series, in case it would seem familiar to you, because unfortunately (or fortunately…), I am not a mastermind for a perfect murder

**4. The death of a genius.**

During the taxi ride to the crime scene they were silent. But it was a different kind of silence than the one there had been between them in the last days. Sherlock was deep in thoughts, his eyes sharp and eager as always during a case. John was sitting next to him. Comfortably not speaking. His thoughts were going over Sherlock's words from that evening.

They arrived to a large, almost run-down looking building on the outskirts of London. A few ramp-tourists were hovering around the yellow police tape, but Sherlock ignored them and quickly went inside. John followed. The building reminded him of the place where Jennifer Wilson was found, the lady in pink from the first case he and Sherlock worked on. Only this building was inhabited. And not by just a few people... As they made their way through the hall John could see that every single room was being occupied by several people, sitting on matrasses on the ground or in bunk-beds. They looked up as the doctor and the consultant detective passed by, but they seemed uninterested in their presence.

'Junkies, runaways.' Sherlock stated while walking ahead, 'Nice place to live… Ah Lestrade.' Sherlock shook hands with the Detective Inspector, who looked both pleased and worried to see them.

'It's good to see the two of you working together again.' He cleared his throat. 'But you have to understand that this has to be off the record. We are still working on the legal consequences of you threatening the police with a gun, Sherlock.' Sherlock smiled at the thought of that incident. 'Ow yes. I'm sure you remember John, our imminent and daring escape..' Of course John remembered. The start of the strangest, and still most painful, days of his life.

'So technically.' Lestrade continued, 'you both are not allowed to be here.' He gave them a grave look.

'But you need me, so we'll keep it between us.' Sherlock said hastily, looking over Lestrade's shoulder at the crime scene. Lestrade sighed. 'Yes, but let's keep a low profile, shall we?!' He turned around and walked back to the end of a dark hallway. Sherlock and John followed.

Lestrade led them pasted a room which seemed to be serving as a kitchen, but was far too dirty for John to even step inside, until they reached a door behind which a steep staircase descended into a basement. As they walked carefully down the wooden steps Lestrade filled them in on the case.

'The victim's name is Clay Howard. He lived in this building since a few months. His roommate found him dead down there this evening.'

On the bottom of the stairs was the lifeless body of a young man. He lay on his back, his limps in strange angles around him and his light blue eyes wide open. Clay was skinny. He had thick dark blond hair and a pale skin. Even though he was dead John could tell he was a good looking man in his early twenties with a specific taste in clothes. He was wearing a thigh, low jeans and a white v-neck shirt.

John examined the body and quickly found out he had died from a broken neck. Sherlock had not moved at all. He stared at the body and waited for John to concur the cause of death, which Sherlock had most likely already figured out. 'Lestrade,' he growled while walking back to the stairs, 'did you really make me come here for a simple case of someone dying after a fall? I thought you said it was murder.'

'It is murder.' Lestrade answered. 'The door was locked.'

'What does that have to do with anything?' John asked.

'Did you see this place?' Lestrade gestured to the halls upstairs. 'It is full of people. They all claimed the door to this basement was always locked and the key was always on the outside. They all heard him yell and fight with someone, and then they heard him fall. They all heard his roommate banging at the door a few minutes later. And they all heard the door being broken open by her and the guy living next to them.'

'So?' John did not understand.

'So, there is no key.' Lestrade looked at Sherlock who had stopped on the first steps of the stairs.

'We did not find a key down here, neither anywhere up there, and trust me, we searched extensively. Someone pushed him down the stairs or locked him up in here somehow. Either way, the key is out there which means..'

'Which means someone else had a hand in this. He was murdered and the murderer has the key.' Sherlock walked back to the body. 'A game of hide and seek.'

John exhaled. 'Must everything be a game?' But Sherlock did not hear him. He squatted next to Clay's lifeless body and examined him closely. Lestrade and John waited patiently until Sherlock stood back up and asked: 'Did you already questioned the roommate?' Lestrade shook his head. 'I would like to attend.' Sherlock said.

'What can you tell us about him?' John couldn't deny he would like to hear his friend make his famous deductions again. Sherlock looked at him. For a second John thought Sherlock knew why he had asked. Sherlock started talking without taking his eyes of John. 'He is in his early twenties. Skinny, but not due to a diet. Very vain. Homosexual, but single, apart for occasional encounters maybe. He is poor. He writes, types, but on something heavier than a modern computer or laptop.' Lestrades voice broke the stare between Sherlock and John. 'Let's see if you're right. I think we can try to interview, Mira, his roommate, now.'

John frowned. 'What do you mean, "try"?'

'Well,' Lestrade took a deep breath, 'she was pretty shaken from finding him. She was unable to answer any questions when I first arrived. Maybe now she has calmed down.'

As the three men went upstairs John suddenly smiled and said to Sherlock: 'Are you sure about his sexuality? The last time you draw that conclusion based on someone's looks you were wrong.' Sherlock immediately knew what he was talking about: 'And who said Moriarty wasn't homosexual?'

'Ehm.. what? No..' John stuttered.

Sherlock looked at the doctor and raised his eyebrows. 'So just because the man was a criminal mastermind he couldn't possibly be gay? That is an absurd reasoning, John.'

John felt silly. He wanted to try to make Sherlock realize he could make mistakes too, but as usual the man was two steps ahead of him. Yep, familiar feeling.

The men walked into one of the two rooms next to the stairway. A blonde girl, John guessed she was at most twenty-three, sad at the edge of a sloppy looking bed. She was wearing a large grey vest over a tight little black dress. It was clear she had been crying a lot and it looked as if she could start again any moment. John glanced at Sherlock who frowned at the display of emotion they had to deal with. Lestrade pulled a chair across from the girl and sad down. 'Mira, I am very sorry for your lost, but I am going to have to ask you some questions. It is very important that we do this now.'

Mira nodded.

'Can you tell us exactly what happened here tonight?'

Mira swallowed and her voice was shaking when she started:

'I came home from work, earlier than normal. I was still at the front door when I heard him scream.' She closed her eyes and breathed in both her hands before continuing.

'I knew it was Clay and I ran to our room, but he wasn't there. I called him but he did not respond. Then Vince came in. He heard the cry too but since Clay was not in the room we didn't know what to do until I realized he must be in the basement. Vince thought I was stupid and claimed Clay couldn't be down there because the door was locked. But I knew.' Her voice broke and she started crying again. It didn't stop her from continuing her story. 'I tried to yank the door open, but I couldn't. Vince took a hammer and hit the door open because I didn't stop yelling at him. And then we saw Clay, down there in the dark.'

She was breathing in her hands again, but is hardly calmed her. 'I tried to help him, I shook him and yelled his name, but his eyes were staring at nothing like that….' She shook her head and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. 'Vince told me he was dead and took me upstairs. By then I was crying so loud that all the people in the house must have heard me.'

'Thank you.' Said Lestrade. 'Did you see anyone in the hall, when you came in for the first time, and you went into your room?'

'No, there was no one.'

'And you are sure there was no key in the door?'

'Yes. Very sure!'

'Did you see if there was a key on the inside of the door?'

'I didn't see that, but Vince noticed there wasn't a key when he took me back up.'

'Were you in a relationship with Clay?' Sherlock's voice sounded harder and less friendly then Lestrade's, but Mira didn't seem to notice. She laughed once. A dry, ironic laugh. 'No, sir. We were just roommates. Clay was… not capable of relationships.'

Lestrade glared at her. 'What do you mean?'

Mira inhaled and looked up at the sealing. It seemed she was looking for the right words. 'Clay was a great guy, inspector. He was.. so smart. Too smart for his own good. He saw everything. Clay could never…' she hesitated, 'he could never look at anyone without seeing their defects, their shortcomings. That's why, despite his brains, he could never even keep a job. So a relationship? Love? No, he definitely couldn't have that.'

'What could he have?' Sherlock asked. Mira looked up at him. 'Lust.' She answered. 'Clay was sexually attracted to men. To Vince, to be more exact.'

'The man in other room?' Lestrade seemed surprised, but Sherlock did not wait for her answer. 'But Vince and Clay were not in a relationship.' It wasn't a question, but Mira still shook her head in acknowledgement. 'But they had sex occasionally.' Sherlock stated. Mira, nodded and started sobbing again.

'Vince is a jerk.' She said softly. 'He used Clay. Shamelessly. He never cared for him. Clay always said that did not matter, but I knew it hurt him.' She took a filthy looking tissue from the pocket of her vest and blew her nose. 'Clay was a strange guy. I really had to get used to him when I first moved here. He didn't mind sharing this little room,' she waived her arm at the cramped space around her, 'but God knows he drove me crazy at first.'

'How?' John asked. Some elements of the girls description of the story strongly reminded him of a certain consulting detective he knew….

'Clay was a writer. He had one of those old typewriters, because he did not trust technology. He didn't even had a phone. He used to write all the time. Literally all the time, inspector. Do you know what sound that makes? That old typewriter! The clicking of the keys, at all hours. And most of the time his work did not even get published. It drove me crazy! Until I got used to it and then it became…. kind of soothing..' Mira smiled at herself. The memory seemed to soften her.

For a few seconds no one spoke, then Mira broke the silence. 'I thought of Clay like a brother. A crazy, disturbed, annoyingly smart brother. We were fighting a lot, because he could never just be nice, normal, friendly… but I really liked him, inspector. I really did…Three days ago I found this on my pillow.' She showed them a small, plastic slow globe with a ballerina inside. 'A cheap children's toy.' Sherlock stated and John rolled his eyes at him. Mira, however, did not notice his degrading tone. 'Clay got it for me. He knew how much I liked these things when I was a child. I know it is not expensive but he hardly had any money at all…' She lost her voice in the tears again.

'Does he have any relatives? Anyone who should be informed?'

'No. Clay had absolutely no one. No parents or siblings and no other relatives.'

'Did you notice anything different about him in the last days?' Lestrade asked. 'Did he tell you about anyone he had problems with or anything like that?'

Mira shook her head. 'He had problems with everyone. Usually people stayed out of his way, except for Vince every now and then. And me, of course. But two days ago… 'she suddenly smiled a bit, 'Clay was helping me in the kitchen, even though he rarely ate these last few days, claiming he couldn't be bothered. Vince came on to him in his obvious way and Clay told him to piss off. He just outright rejected him in front of everyone. It was wonderful. Vince must have been so humiliated. Nora and Drew were there too, you can ask them about it.'

'Do you know of a fight between Vince and Clay before or after this incident?'

'Not that I am aware of. It seemed to be out of the blue.'

Quick talks to the other tenants confirmed Mira's details of the evening, and of Clay's personality. He was not liked by any of them. They described him as cold, heartless and vindictive, with a hopeless crush on Vince, who always treated him like shit.

The key remained missing. Every person they spoke too, every room they entered, Sherlock could tell after a few seconds if there was anything there worth investigating. But the tenants were… less than pleased, to say it nicely, with Sherlock's quick and ruthless deductions…

'Pregnant, but not from you, obviously.'

'Illegal substance under the matrass, along with some pornographic magazines.'

'Eating disorder, combined with drug abuse, short life expectancy. You should have thought about that before you made that girl two doors down pregnant, you know.'

But no key was found. Sherlock wanted to talk to Vince, but Lestrade informed them they will arrest Vince and take him to the station. 'There are only three rooms in the hallway to the basement,' he explained, 'the kitchen, Mira and Clay's room and Vince' room. Only Vince would have had enough time to push the guy down the stairs, lock the door and go inside his own room before Mira came. And he is the only one with a good reason to do so: Clay rejected him. It is an open and shot case after all. Sorry for making you come here, boys!'

'Or Mira did it herself and she is lying.' John suggested.

'She isn't.' Sherlock simply stated. 'But I still need to talk to Vince.'

'Fine.' Lestrade caved. 'He is outside smoking.'

'Interesting bloke, this Clay fellow, isn't he?' John decided to carefully pry and see if Sherlock had noticed any of the similarities between himself and the deceased, but as usual, Sherlock saw through it immediately.

'I know what you are getting at, John, but I do not think myself resembling mr Howard in any way other than the fact that we are both highly intelligent and less interested than most in making people we don't care about at ease. No drop it, we have more important things to do.'

John almost had to run to keep up with his friend, but Sherlock didn't notice it and continued talking. 'Lestrade is right. Vince is the only one who could have killed mr Howard. He had motive and opportunity. He has the key somewhere which will proof his quilt. I just need to talk to him for a few minutes, then get him back in his room and he will tell us where it is.'

John was surprised at Sherlock sharing his plan with him like that. New techniques. Rather nice.

Vince was a tall guy. Taller than the two police officers guarding him. He had black hair, a tanned face and fierce dark brown eyes. He wore a leather jacket that seemed new and expensive. Vince' calm, careless attitude couldn't be a greater contrast to Mira's desperation. Nothing in his posture or the way he greeted John and Sherlock told them he had just found his lover dead.

At Sherlock's request he repeated what had happened that evening. His story was, as Lestrade had already indicated, consistent with that of Mira. Sherlock thanked him for his time and walked away. John followed. Confused.

'What happened to making him show us where the key is?' He asked.

'No need.' Sherlock stated. 'He is speaking the truth.'

'But,' John stuttered, 'he is the killer. He did it. It is the only explanation.'

'Apparently not.' Sherlock paced in front of John, his eyes squeezed, digging in his mind of some detail he must have –miraculously – missed. John shook his head.

'This Vince-guy killed Clay. Who else could have done it? It couldn't have been suicide because there was no key down there.'

'Still...' Sherlock didn't stop pacing. He didn't look at John when he started talking. 'Still. Something is not right. Why did Clay behave different lately? Why did he not eat for days?'

'Maybe he was on a case?' John grinned, but Sherlock ignored him.

'Vince is not lying. He really doesn't give a damn about Clay and he didn't care if Clay rejected him or not.'

John smirked. 'That must have driven Clay crazy.'

Sherlock stopped. 'That is it!' He exclaimed. John didn't follow. 'What is "it"?'

Sherlock started walking back to the house and continued talking without waiting for John. 'Of course that is it. Clay thought he took the perfect revenge by rejecting Vince in front of others, but when that didn't have the effect he wanted he took more drastic matters.'

'If you're trying to say he killed himself,' John said as they entered the house, 'you are wrong. The locked door remember. We need to find the key.'

'I already know where the key is.' Sherlock stated, rushing into the house.

'What are you talking about?' John asked. 'And slow down. Explain to me what's going on.'

'Did you see his shoes, John? All Clay's clothes were rather cheap and ordinary but those shoes are from an expensive brand, and new too. I have to talk to Mira again.'

John didn't understand at all the relevance of the shoes, but he followed Sherlock through the dark hall, back to Mira's room where she still sad quietly with the snow globe in her hand.

'When did he buy the shoes, Mira?' Sherlock threw the question at her before she even noticed they had come in. She looked up, surprised and for a moment she seemed to baffled to answer. 'Ehm… about four days ago… I think. He's been wanting them for months.'

'So one day before he bought you the snow globe and two days before he rejected Vince?'

'Yeah, I guess so. Why do you ask?'

'He didn't type these last four days, did he?' Sherlock asked. John had no idea where the investigation was going.

'No.' Mira answered.

'Did you talk to him four days ago? Was there something different about him?'

Mira looked first confused and then thoughtful, going back into her memories. 'Yes…' she said slowly. 'There was something about him, four or five days ago. Before he bought the shoes. I came home and he was sitting in the dark. Staring out of the window. He didn't speak to me all night and when I woke up in the morning he was still sitting there, like he had not moved all night. It was then that he stopped writing I guess. I asked him what was wrong but he didn't tell me. That wasn't unusual though.'

'Thank you.' Sherlock told her before leaving the room.

In the hallway, John tried to catch up with the consulting detective as he made his way out of the house. 'Hurry up, John.' He called over his shoulder. 'I want to inform Lestrade that the case is solved and go home.'

'What do you mean "solved"?' Lestrade asked as he walked towards them. 'You claimed Vince is speaking the truth as well.'

'He does.' Sherlock confirmed.

'Then who killed Clay?' John asked.

'And where is the key?' Lestrade added.

Sherlock sighed impatiently. 'Isn't it obvious?'

'No!' John and Lestrade answered at the same time.

Sherlock took a deep breath before rambling through the explanations at his usual, almost-faster-then-humanly-possible speed:

'Clay killed Clay and Clay has the key. Four days ago he found out he is sick and dying. Hence the skinniness and the lack of appetite. After consideration he decided not to wait and end his life at his own terms. He bought the shoes he always wanted but which were always far too expensive. He bought a thoughtful gift for the one person in the world he cared about and he rejected his nasty lover thinking it would humiliate him to the bone. He was vindictive after all. However, when that obviously didn't work he decided to make Vince pay in another way. He killed himself and made it look like murder, assuming that Vince would be the only suspect since he could never have anticipated Mira coming home from work early.'

John and Lestrade stared at him with a mix of admiration and disbelieve.

'But still…' John frowned, 'that doesn't explain where the key is.'

'Simple. He ate it.'

'What?!'

Sherlock exhaled impatiently again. 'Must I explain every obvious detail to you?'

'Sherlock!' Lestrade's voice sounded annoyed.

'Fine. Clay went inside the basement, locked the door, swallowed the key, yelled, made some noises of a fight and let himself fall down the stairs.'

'That's….' Lestrade started.

'…genius?' Sherlock looked smug. 'You were right Lestrade. Open and shot case. Good night.'

Sherlock walked away, out of the house. John followed, leaving a confused and annoyed Lestrade behind.

'Don't look so smug.' John said when catching up with his friend in the street. Sherlock didn't answer. 'Well,' John said in a concluding tone, 'we will hear from Lestrade if you were right after the autopsy. I am glad this is over so I can finally go to bed.'

'Ow shut up, John!' Sherlock said while looking at the doctor. 'Don't try to pretend you didn't miss this as much as I did, because I see right through you!'

John couldn't suppress a smile and neither could Sherlock. It was the same smile as he saw that night after they solved their first case together. A truthful smile, warm, which made those otherwise so restless grey eyes sparkle.

'Dinner?' John asked.

'Starving.'

Thank you for reading! Please review and tell me how you would like the story to go (Johnlock? Drama? Humor?)

The next chapter I have in mind is a bit more on the personal level between them…. Going into Sherlock's awkward ignorance of social rules…


	5. Chapter 5, Kiss and tell

**I do not own Sherlock, John, Lestrade or any other man at the moment :)**

Thank you for reviewing! Please read and let me know what you think….

**5. Kiss and tell.**

_'John, come home. We have a case. SH'_

_'Can't. I am at work till six. JW'_

_'This is more important. SH'_

_'My work is important too Sherlock! Start without me. JW'_

_'Fine. I don't need you anyway. SH'_

_'Thank you for empathizing that. JW'_

_'You're welcome. SH'_

_'I was being sarcastic. JW'_

_'Obviously. So was I. SH'_

_'Like I told you: it doesn't suit you. JW'_

_'I am not getting rid of the dressing-gown. SH'_

_'I meant the sarcasm, Sherlock. Just get on the bloody case and let me do my work. See you tonight at home. JW'_

The texting was nice, even though Sherlock was bloody annoying as always. John was happy to notice they seemed to have picked up where they left off after Sherlock's fake suicide. Only now John couldn't always help with the cases because of his work.

On his way home that evening he read what Sherlock had send him about the case: a journalist undercover as a call-girl had died of drugs that were administered to her in a so far unknown way. She had gone on several dates with men to find out what type of people go for call-girls and how they were treated. Pretty stupid and dangerous, John thought. Lestrade was desperate for a break in the case due the famous and influential newspaper the woman worked for, and he had called in Sherlock's help.

John was five minutes from Baker Street when his phone buzzed.

_'Need you for the case. I know how she was drugged. Where are you? SH'_

_'So now you need me after all? Five minutes. JW' _

John smiled and hurried home. But when he heard what it was that Sherlock needed help with he wished he had taken that double shift his boss had offered….

'No.'

'Don't be childish, John.'

'I am definitely not being childish.'

'So?'

'No, Sherlock! Really no. No way in hell.'

Sherlock looked impatiently at the doctor from over the table. 'So you won't help me?'

John paced through the kitchen. 'In this way? No!'

'You are overreacting.'

'I am not. Find another way to do it.'

'Why? This is the best way.'

'I won't let you.'

Sherlock sighed. 'It is just a kiss, John. Why is it bothering you so much?'

'It is not just a kiss, Sherlock. It is _you_ kissing _me_.'

'To test the reaction time. It is the only way we can figure out who of the dates she kissed had the drugs on his lips.'

'Forget it. I still won't do it.'

Sherlock was annoyed and clearly ignorant of why John was refusing to let Sherlock kiss him. 'You don't have to do anything. I put the substance equivalent to the drugs, apart from the deadly part, on my lips, I kiss you and then I monitor the reaction time.'

'Test it on one of your dead bodies, then!'

'Don't be stupid, John. I have to study the response on a living person in order to include in the calculation the fact that she ate and might have been whipping her mouth and what not. Plus, it has to be administered by a kiss in order to get the best result as to the quantity and dispersal of the drugs on the lips.' Sherlock rapidly explained with his usual isn't-it-obvious- look on his face.

John was both furious with the proposal as well as extremely irritated that Sherlock seemed completely oblivious as to why this could never happened. 'Ask Molly to let you kiss her. I am sure she wouldn't mind.'

'John,' Sherlock got up while keeping both hands on the table, 'I need someone who will be with me at least 24 hours to test the progress every 30 minutes. I explained this to you. We are wasting time.'

'No, Sherlock, _you_ are wasting time, because I made it clear this is not happening. Now I'm going to take a shower.'

Sherlock looked really annoyed and frustrated when John left the kitchen and went into the bathroom. _Unbelievable_, he thought to himself. Bloody unbelievable. How could anyone be so completely oblivious to the normal rules of social behavior? Even Sherlock, being a high functioning sociopath, should be able to see that kissing your flat-mate in order to test the effects of certain substance on people's lips is completely unacceptable. And if his flat-mate had been a very attractive girl.. John smiled to himself. Though maybe Sherlock didn't like girls after all. After The Woman John assumed Sherlock was attracted to the opposite sex, if attracted to anyone at all. But then again, even after their encounter with miss Adler, who the hell knows about Sherlock…

After his shower John decided to talk to Sherlock again. The shock was a bit down and he realized his friend might really need some more explanation on issues that are obvious for other people. He walked into the living room. 'Sherlock?'

'Ah, John, I'm in the kitchen.'

John turned to the kitchen and started: 'Listen, maybe I should explain again-'

But he did not get to explain anything. Sherlock came at him from the kitchen, grabbed John's head with both hands and pressed his lips to John's. John was completely baffled. He felt Sherlock's warm, slightly wet, _(poisoned?)_ lips tightly to his own for about two seconds, until John got his senses back and pushed Sherlock hard-handed away.

'Sherlock?!' John stared at him, his eyes flaming with anger. 'What the HELL are you doing? Are you completely mad?!' John raised his hand to whip off his mouth but Sherlock grabbed his friends' risks. 'Don't! Or I'll have to kiss you again.'

John was furious. 'You bloody idiot! How dare you do that? I told you very, very clearly that I didn't want to do this, Sherlock!'

Sherlock frowned. 'That's why I ambushed you; so you didn't have to do anything. No stop making such a fuss.' He returned to the kitchen as if nothing had happened.

'A _fuss_?!' John had problems controlling himself. _Breath in. Breath out._ He told himself. _Killing him will feel good now, but you'll regret it in the morning._

'Sherlock, we have to talk about this.'

The consulting detective sighed in annoyance. 'If this is about what people _think…_'

'No, Sherlock, this is about how I think. How you should know I think and why you can absolutely not go around kissing people, especially not after you've been told it is not appreciated.'

'Oh come on. I don't "go around kissing people"; I kissed you. For an experiment. For a case. It was not for pleasure, if that's what you're worried about.' He gave John a demining smile. It made John feel worse. Sherlock really had no idea about all the ways in which his behavior was inappropriate.

He opened his mouth to start a new attempt, but at that moment Lestrade came in. Behind him, sergeant Donovan lingered in the doorway.

'Evening boys, mrs Hudson let us in. Ah John, how are you? Sherlock, where are we with the poison?' The Detective Inspector was clearly edgy, stressed. He did not wait for John's response. Sherlock started explaining about the cause and the effect of the drugs.

'So one of her dates kissed her with poison on his lips,' Lestrade nodded, 'I will inform our boys at the lap and they will run some tests of the incubation time tomorrow morning.'

'No need.' Sherlock stated. 'I already kissed John.'

John clinched his teeth together in embarrassment. He felt his cheeks flush.

'Really?' Lestrade's eyebrows almost disappeared under his grey hair while he turned to John with a mix of amusement and disbelieve. Donovan snickered. John shook his head, he was never going to hear the end of this.

'Well, while I'm very happy for you both,' Lestrade snorted, 'I would prefer we keep the snogging till after the case is solved.' John wanted to protest but Sherlock was faster.

'I made an equivalent of the drugs to test the results after a kiss on a live subject. I will measure the progress every 30 minutes. Much more effective than your lab-tests.' He turned and walked passed John and Lestrade to the door. 'Now if you'll excuse us, we have a murderer to catch. Come along John.' Sherlock got his coat and rushed out of the apartment without waiting for John or checking if he actually followed.

John was stunned in embarrassment and anger. He did not want to follow Sherlock, but he even more did not want to stay in the same room with Lestrade and Donovan looking at him like that. Like there was something confirmed that they already knew and they finally got the proof. It was horribly humiliating. John grabbed his coat and followed the consulting detective down the stairs and into the street.

'You're a bastard, Sherlock Holmes.' John yelled at him as they got into a cab. 'A bloody insensitive, selfish bastard and sometimes I wonder why the hell I still put up with all your shit!'

Sherlock ignored him. What else was new.

'I should have punched you in the face, you know. Anyone else doing this to me… I would break their yaw.' John wanted to show Sherlock how angry he was, but instead Sherlock just scoffed and said: 'But you didn't.'

John was about to reply when he realized that Sherlock was right. As always. He knew John would get upset but he would not hurt him. He knew he could push the boundaries as far as he wished and all John would do was get upset, yell and then follow his friend everywhere. As always.

The case was solved rather quickly, due to Sherlock's unorthodox testing method. John was pleased because it was bloody annoying to let Sherlock check his lips every 30 minutes with a magnifying glass. All that remained to be done was catch the killer.

Lestrade had a team strategically placed around his house, waiting for his return, but, as usual, Sherlock had another idea. He dragged John into a small alley near the house and made him squat down behind a huge, smelly container. Night had fallen and John shivered in his light coat. Sherlock ignored him and peeked carefully around the container.

'He will know.' He said more to himself than to John. 'He will know the police is waiting for him the minute he gets near his street. He will take a detour and try to get to the train station through this alley. We just have to wait and listen carefully.'

John sighed. This could be a long night. Every time there was the slightest noise of a passerby Sherlock closed his eyes and told John if it was a man or a woman. John was bored. He thought about how Sherlock seemed like dog or another animal with supersonic hearing, telling who was approaching just by the sound of their shoes.

Suddenly, John realized the two of them resembled the two dogs from his favorite childhood movie The Aristocats. There were two dogs, Napoleon and Lafayette, and Napoleon could always tell everything about whoever was coming just by listening to their footsteps. He giggled at his own thoughts. Sherlock exhaled loudly. Clearly annoyed by the sound, but John couldn't stop. He tried to stop laughing but the thought of asking Sherlock for the color of the shoes he heard (as Lafayette had done in the movie) just made him laugh harder. He pressed his hands over his mouth but it hardly muffled the sound.

Sherlock turned to him, angrily. 'Would you mind, John? I'm trying to catch a murderer here.'

John nodded, 'sorry.' He tried taking deep breathes but the comparison in his head just didn't leave him alone and he giggled again.

'John,' Sherlock furiously hissed at him, 'If you don't stop giggling like a schoolgirl right now I'll kiss you again!'

John immediately stopped laughing. The funny imagine of the Disney film faded from his mind. This was the first time anyone had ever so effectively threatened him with a kiss. Sherlock looked at him. Not angry anymore, but somehow surprised by the instant effect of his warning. Or maybe not surprised…. John couldn't tell.

Sherlock looked at the ground and then leaned back to peek around the container. 'So it was that bad, he?' He said it softly but John heard him very well.

John was perplexed. Was Sherlock…. ? Did John… _hurt Sherlock's feelings_? Oh shit. He did not think for a minute that Sherlock could in any way feel anything during that kiss. He had just been so angry the whole time that the thought never occurred to him that it might have meant something for Sherlock.

Fuck!

And what if this had been the first time he kissed anyone?

Double fuck!

And all John had done was screamed at him and now, by his response to Sherlock's threat he had made it seem like the kiss was really horrible. He had to try and fix this.

'Ehm, Sherlock…. No…. That's not what I meant…' He stuttered.

Shit. How to explain to a sociopath that his kiss was unwanted but not that bad. _Was it that bad? No it wasn't… _He thought to himself. _Shit. Fuck. I don't even want to think about that._

'Sherlock…' He started again. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-'

But then Sherlock turned to him with an evil smile on his face and a playful twinkle in his eyes. He was messing with John, of course. John gasped. 'Sherlock, you git!' He tried to elbow his friend in the ribs. 'You son of a… I thought I had actually hurt your feelings.'

Sherlock was laughing. 'And you very amiably tried to comfort me, John.'

John was angry, but laughing too. Confusing emotions. 'Okay. You've had your fun. No more playing with me tonight, okay.'

'I'll try to restrain myself, but you are such a willing subject.'

'Sherlock I mean it.' John pushed his friend who was still laughing.

'Stop. Stop. I hear someone coming.' Sherlock grabbed John's risks.

At that moment Lestrade appeared from behind the container. 'Kissing in the kitchen and now groping each other in an alley? It's a good thing some people around here still keep their mind on the case.' He smirked while Sherlock lightly jumped to his feet.

'We were not…' John started, while trying to get up. 'Oh never mind. Did you catch the killer?'

'Yes we did.' Lestrade answered. 'You two can continue this in the privacy of your own home because I would not like to arrest you for inappropriate behavior in a public street.' He grinned at John, but John was too tired and too mangled by emotions to even bother to blush or contradict him. Sherlock did not seem to be embarrassed by the implications at all, as usual.

Lestrade left and Sherlock and John walked back to the main street.

'An energetic evening, wasn't it John?'

John smiled. 'That's one way to put it.'

'Oh come on! I was hardly bored at all tonight.'

'Like you had the time for it between kissing and groping me.' John joked.

Sherlock laughed. 'You're right. Maybe I should take you out to dinner. I'll pay.'

'You bloody well better pay! And don't expect me to put out!' They were both giggling at their own silliness.

The implicit jokes continued all the way to a Chinese restaurant that stayed open late…

'Don't foul yourself John, you let me kiss you even _before_ a date.'

'Excuse me? I _let you? _If I remember correctly you assaulted me. You had to have me.'

'I couldn't resist. Must have been the jumper.'

'Oh shut up!'

Thank you for reading. Reviews/comments/suggestions are highly appreciated!

**Like I said, I do not own anything. I also do not own Disney's Napoleon and Lafayette. If you want to read more about them visit wiki/Napoleon_and_Lafayette** (because they really do resemble John and Sherlock ;)


	6. A midnight, a moment, a mind palace

**6. A midnight, a moment, a mind palace.**

It was the middle of a cold night. Under three thick blankets John lay shivering until he fell asleep. Nightmares of war, blood and repeated slow motion imagines of Sherlock throwing his phone away and jumping of that roof made him wake up, covered in sweat, and throwing the blankets off. That was too cold. John pulled one blanket back up. Still too cold. Another blanket then, but no more sleep.

His thoughts went back to the image of Sherlock throwing his phone aside on top of the roof. John knew why this one simple act hunted him for so long. He really did not need a therapist to tell him that. It was that motion after which John knew he couldn't do anything anymore. He had to watch his friend jump to his death. It was also the realization that he couldn't say anything else. Those last words… Those simple last words… and then he threw the phone. John knew, somewhere deep down, that it was also such a painful memory because it represented that Sherlock had decided nothing that John could say would make a difference. Like he had no influence over his friend's actions at all. And of course he hadn't. But most people would commit suicide while they are alone, or at least not with friends or family around. It had hunted John for so long that Sherlock had decided to jump in front of him. While at the same time he couldn't deny that he would have felt a hundred times worse if he hadn't been there.

These thoughts, memories and nightmares, combined with the cold and the stuffy blankets made it impossible for the ex-army doctor to go back to sleep. He decided to get out of bed and make himself a cup of tea.

Downstairs, he noticed the light of the fire coming from the living room. He peaked in, expecting to see Sherlock on one of his experiments, but instead he saw his friend sitting on the floor in front of the fire with his back towards John. His legs crossed and seemingly not doing anything. John did not want to disturb his friend and tried to quietly return to his room, but of course Sherlock had already heard him.

'Nightmares?' It sounded like a question but John knew Sherlock was merely stating a fact to him.

'Yeah. I couldn't sleep anymore. I'll make some tea. Do you want some?'

Sherlock shook his head without looking at John.

'Everything okay?' John asked.

'Hmm. In mind palace.' Sherlock answered absent mindedly.

'Oh. Okay. I'll leave you to it then.' John was about to go to the kitchen when Sherlock suddenly turned his head and looked at his blogger with a piercing look. Deducting. Obviously.

'They've become rather bad, those nightmares of yours.' He stated.

John rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. 'I don't want to talk about it. I just need some distraction.'

'And _tea_ is distraction for you?' Sherlock sneered.

'Well, we don't all have a palace in our mind to get lost in, Sherlock.'

'Don't be ridiculous John, I never get lost in my own mind palace.'

John sighed. 'Never mind.' He turned in to the kitchen when he suddenly heard Sherlock say: 'Do you want me to show it to you?'

He was surprised. 'Your mind palace?'

'Yes.'

John frowned. 'You usually make me leave the room when you go in there.'

Sherlock exhaled impatiently. 'That's because I usually go in there for a case. Or because I need to find something. Now I'm just there because it relaxes me and I thought it might do the same for you, but if you are not interested…'

'No, no, I am interested.' John hastily said. 'Just surprised. That's all.'

Sherlock smiled at him. A slight smile but a true one, the kind that made his eyes look softer, more friendly. 'Sit down here.' Sherlock ordered. 'And close your eyes.' John did as he was told. 'You don't close your eyes?' He noticed. Another annoyed sigh. 'I don't need to, John. I know this place very well. Besides, unlike yours, my mind is capable of focusing on several things at the same time. Your fleeing thoughts will be distracted by the most simple things and closing your eyes will help you to concentrate. Now stop asking questions and focus.'

The men sat on the floor facing each other. Legs crossed, knees almost touching. John thought it could look like they were meditating. He was a bit uncomfortable with the situation and he impatiently rubbed his knees with his cold hands.

'Stop that, John' Sherlock demanded.

'My hands are cold.' John complained.

'You are too distracted.' Sherlock voice sounded annoyed but to John's surprise his friend took his cold hands and folded his own over them.

'Now focus.'

John tried to relax. 'So what does it look like.'

'It is a mind palace, John. It will look however you want it to look. I will only show you part of it because it will take us hours, days, to go through even half.'

Sherlock's voice sounded soft. Soothing, even.

'Now, open the door, walk through the hall, up the stairs and onto the first floor. On this floor there are several room. Each room contains some elementary memories. The doors on the right are facts and figures, basic mathematic formulas, physics, all those things. We do not enter those rooms because you will not understand the storage system. The first few rooms on the left are more fleeing, less factual memories. Most of the rooms contain places, and the people linked to it, like Bart's and the Yard. Each rooms contains all the details I saved about the place and the person, and the persons connected to them. Some people have their own room like Mycroft, mrs Hudson and Lestrade, because they cannot be linked to only one place or because the person represents more the place than the other way around. Like the way Mrs Hudson represents the flat and everything connected to it. You can imagine each room looks from the inside like the whole place it represents. I can go in and find things I need. I can also move things from one room to another if I want to remember a certain connection between places or people for later.'

John was mesmerized. Not only by the grant, impressive palace he had imagined in his mind, but also by Sherlock's explanations and the tone of his voice. So calm and even. Nothing like his usual rambles through the fact of a case. Now, he took his time.

'Do I have a room?' John couldn't help himself, he was just too curious.

Sherlock's answer came quick and cold: 'No.'

John tried not to let the answer sting him. He tried something else: 'So you have a map of every place you ever visited in here…' John wondered quietly without opening his eyes.

'Of course not. That would be a waste of the space. I only save the places and the people that are meaningful or useful for later.'

'Oh. Okay. So I am in the room with Mrs Hudson and the flat then, am I?'

John kept his eyes dutifully closed so he could not see Sherlock looking at him. Staring at the doctors calm face in which he could see John really had visualized the mind palace.

'No.' Sherlock said again. Even with his eyes closed, John's face showed some disappointment.

Sherlock continued. 'The rooms at the end have different time periods of my life that need to be saved separately. Like university, certain travels, and…' He hesitated.

'And…?' John encouraged him.

'And the year you thought I was dead.'

They were silent for a while. Then John asked: 'Do I ever get to see that room?'

'No.' Sherlock answered. 'It is dark and cold and if I can avoid it I will never go in there again. I saved it because it contains important information.'

John understood and did not ask anything else. It was a brief but valuable inside into Sherlock's mind. The fact that he had described the room, and thereby the period, as dark and cold was a sign of his feeling about that time…. About his feelings about being away from John. John had never dared to ask anything about it, and this was already more than he had expected to learn.

Sherlock carefully examined the doctor's face for a few seconds and then said: 'You don't have a room or a place because you live in this palace with me, John.'

'I… I do?' A frown came over his closed eyes.

'Yes, you do. This mind palace is a reflection of the way I live and how I see and observe the world: I put everything in a logical place where I can find it back. You, John, are everywhere in this palace just as you are everywhere in my live. I do not need a special room to remember things about you.'

John felt his cheeks flush and he smiled. He wanted to open his eyes but he was afraid he might break this precious moment of Sherlock sharing his _feelings_ with him, be it through a tour through an imaginary palace.

'So I live there..?' John asked.

'Yes.' Sherlock answered.

'So technically,' John's smile widened into a grin, 'technically it is my palace too.'

'Don't push it, John.'

John chuckled and then yawned. Sherlock let his hands slide of John's. 'You should get some sleep.'

John reluctantly opened his eyes. His friend had already turned away from him and stared into the fire.

'Yes,' he said, 'yes I should.' He got up. His legs hurt a bit from sitting on the floor that way, but he didn't mind.

'Thank you Sherlock. That was indeed relaxing. And also… very interesting.'

'You're welcome. Good night, John. Sleep well.'

'You too, Sherlock.'


	7. Chapter 7

Hi everyone! It's been a while! Let me know what you think of this...

As usual: I don't own anything :)

**Chapter 7.**

'Stop wiggling. There's absolutely no point to it, John.'

'I'll wiggle as much as I want to, Sherlock! For God's sake. There must be a way to break these chains.'

'There isn't. Now stop it.'

John sighed. This day had been awful from the start and it only got worse with every passing hour. It started when Sherlock decided to 'assist' Lestrade with a case involving the mafia, even though Lestrade had explicitly told him not to, because it was too dangerous. Sherlock had, of course, ignored him and went after the criminal masterminds by himself. Well, with John following him. John still cursed himself for that decision. Thank God he had at least texted Lestrade about their moves. But he couldn't tell him about where they were now – even if he had his phone, which he didn't – because the criminals had overpowered them (obviously), taken them somewhere and even Sherlock seemed to be unable to discover their location.

When John had woken up he realized that he was sitting uncomfortably on a concrete floor in a large empty hall of what seemed to be a construction site. He was leaning to a steel pipe coming out of the floor and reaching all the way to the high ceiling. His hands were cuffed to Sherlock's, who was apparently sitting behind him, their backs to each other, with the steel pipe in between them. Neither of them was seriously injured, and ever since John had woken up he had tried to get out of the cuffs, without any help from Sherlock mind you.

'Lestrade will find us.' Sherlock said almost indifferent. 'You have been telling him about our every move after all.' He added sarcastically.

'You should be grateful for that, Sherlock! If we did everything your way nobody would even know we were going after these guys, which, by the way, was an incredibly stupid thing to do! Did I tell you that?' John was angry, tired and his head hurt.

'Yes John.' Sherlock answered calmly, 'about ten times. Now will you be calm and sit still. Your head will not get better from all that shouting.'

John jerked his head to try and look at Sherlock, but their position made it impossible. 'Are you not scared at all of what they will do to us?' He asked. 'They will come back of course. Who knows what they will do?'

'They will probably try to figure out how much we know and how long we've been following them.'

'Oh, that's reassuring.' John sneered. 'We'll just tell them we didn't even know about their existence 12 hours ago and they will say: "In that case: our apologies for the inconvenience. Can we give you a ride home?" '.

Sherlock sighed impatiently. 'I didn't make you come with me, John. If you can't handle the occasional set back maybe you shouldn't accompany me on cases anymore.'

John was hurt. But also he was angry. Sherlock really did not appreciate him at all.

'If I wasn't here with you, Lestrade would not be looking for us right now.'

'That is true.' Sherlock admitted. 'But you would be looking for me.'

John opened his mouth to reply and then he realized Sherlock was right. 'That still doesn't make the situation any better. Can we please try again to get out of these cuffs?'

'There. Is. No. Point, John.' Sherlock got annoyed. 'Would you please shut up so I can think?'

'You know, Sherlock, maybe you are right. Maybe I shouldn't go with you any more since my presence is apparently so annoying to you.' John sneered.

Sherlock spat back: 'Yes, because you were so happy with your life last year.'

'What?!' Gasped John. 'Do you really want to go there? I thought you were _dead_. I was morning you. Completely useless, of course, thank you very much again for that.'

'How was I to know you would be so affected?'

'_Affected?' _John really wished he could shout in Sherlock's face… Damn those cuffs! '_Affected?!_ What did you expect, you bastard? You threw yourself of a building in front of me, after admitting to have lied to me for months and months –'

'Which was a lie of course.' Sherlock cut him off. 'You knew it was and I knew you would! Can you stop yelling at me. It will not change anything anymore. The important thing is that I came back for you.'

'Yes. Sometimes I wonder why since you just basically told me I am useless to you.' John scoffed.

'I did not say that. I said that you should stay home if you can't –'

'Same difference, Sherlock.'

'It can't be the _same_ difference, John.'

'You know what I meant.' John had calmed down a bit.

'Hmm.'

They sat in silence for a while. The cuffs started to really hurt Johns wrists and his head was aching.

'John?'

'Yes?'

'I'm sorry.'

'Thanks, but I should have known better then to follow you going after the mafia without telling Lestrade about our every move.' John admitted mockingly.

'I didn't mean for tonight.' Sherlock responded quietly.

'Oh..' was all John could say. They were awkwardly silent again, before John inhaled sharply and said: 'You know I've forgiven you, right? But I still get angry sometimes because I am… I don't know… embarrassed I guess…And I was really affected Sherlock. You should not doubt that and I assumed you knew how hurt I would be when you came up with that little plan.'

'I knew you would be angry...' Sherlock spoke so soft John had to make an effort to hear him.

'But I knew it was the only possibility. If I could have done anything else I would have done it because I assumed you would not …' He stopped or he spoke so soft John did hear the end of the sentence.

'I would not… what? Sherlock?'

'… forgive me. Or let me back in your life.'

'Why not? Did you really think I would be angry forever?'

'No but I assumed you would not need me.'

'…'

John did not know what to say. I was strange to hear Sherlock talk like that. Like he, John, actually matters to him. Like he had worried about losing John…

Sherlock continued: 'You are a person unlike anyone else I ever met, John. You are my only friend. The fact that I have only one friend and you have many and can make more easily should have told you that I would have done anything to have stayed with you.'

Was it his imagine or did Sherlock's fingers brushed slightly against his own as he spoke?

John was glad Sherlock could not see his face as his eyebrows had disappeared under his hairline with surprise of Sherlock's speech. But then the detective spoke again, louder and more with the demeaning the knew so well…:

'But I did mean it when I said I didn't think you would be _so_ affected. Mycroft told me how often you visited my grave and how all your relationships ended after only a few dates. I almost thought-'

John cut him off before he could continue: 'For God's sake, Sherlock? Are you an expert in human emotions now?' He yelled again. Damn. Leave it to Sherlock to effectively ruin a moment.

'No, but you have to admit you were very upset for a very long time over your _flat mate.' _Sherlock smirked.

'Damn Sherlock.' John sighed annoyed. 'Not you too. Please don't you too start to worry about me being _in love_ with you!'

Sherlock seemed to think for a second, then: 'Who said that I would be worried?'

John was baffled. What did that mean?

'What?' He asked.

But before any of them could speak the doors at the end of the hall opened and four or five armed men walked quickly towards them.

'Uncuff them.' One of the men spoke and immediately one of the others bend down and started unlocking their cuffs.

'Thank you. That was about time.' Sherlock said condescending. But his smart remark was answered by a slap in the face of the men who appeared to be the leader.

'Shut up.'

John realized how serious the situation was. 'Just be quiet Sherlock.'

'You be quiet, John.' Sherlock sneered. Oh great, john thought.

'Him.' The leader suddenly spoke, pointing at John.

'Him what?' Sherlock asked in a demanding tone, but none of the men answered. Instead, two of them they pulled John to his feet, while two others started cuffing Sherlock to the pipe again. That didn't set well with Sherlock. 'No, wait!' He yelled while the men dragged John with them, his legs were almost numb after sitting so long in the same position.

'No!' Sherlock yelled again. 'No wait! He cannot tell you anything! Take me!'

John felt a strange feeling of warmth and emotion flowing over him when hearing his friends' words. It almost washed away the fear for a second. The men were done tying Sherlock, but he did not seem to give up and struggled against the cuffs, half on his feet. But he could do nothing but yell as the group of men took John away. John wanted to tell him to calm down, that everything would be okay, but he didn't have time, as the men dragged him through the doors, leaving Sherlock alone in the hall.

'JOHN!' He could hear Sherlock yell through while the men took him further away. He knew he had to scream, he had to make a sound, but as soon as he opened his mouth one of his attackers hit him in the face.

Sherlock struggled against the cuffs, even though he knew it was useless. He kept yelling the doctors name, even though he knew it was useless. But he couldn't give up. If he would stop he would have to think about what those men were doing to John while he could not reach him. And that was too painful.

After what seemed like an hour he suddenly heard the sound of cars pulling up at great speed nearby. Lestrade. Finally.

There were sounds of people moving, yelling and – his heart seemed to stop in fear – gunshots. John had to be okay. He had to be.

Sherlock was still fighting the cuffs when Lestrade came in from a door behind him.

'Sherlock! Thank God! You bloody idiot! Where is John?' Lestrade yelled at him while bending down to uncuff him. Sherlock did not answer.

'Sit still so I can get these off, will you?' Lestrade somehow managed to get the detective free despite his constant moving. Sherlock was vaguely aware of Lestrade asking him things, but he could not focus on the DI's voice.

_John! _He thought. _I have to get to John now! Now! _

Suddenly he felt his wrists being free. He stumbled to get to his feet and started running to the doors through which he had seen John disappear.

'Sherlock!' Lestrade yelled. 'Wait! Where are you going?'

Sherlock ran through the hallway. 'JOHN?' He wasn't he answering?

'Sherlock?' He heard the doctor from somewhere at the end of the hall. _He is alive. Thank God!_

A door was half open. He threw it further open and saw John sitting on the floor in the middle of a large room. His hands on the ground in front of him. When he saw Sherlock he got up. There was blood on his face. Sherlock ran towards him while John said: 'Did I tell you how incredibly stupid-'

But he got cut off by Sherlock crashing into him. For the second time tonight John was completely baffled. It took him a second to realize the detective was hugging him. His long arms tightly wrapped around the doctor. It was actually a bit painful for John, but he did not really feel it. Sherlock held him close while he whispered: 'Yes John, about eleven times.'

After a few seconds Sherlock let go. The men looked awkwardly at each other. Sherlock avoided John's eyes. Clearly, he felt uncomfortable about his panicked display of affection.

Lestrade came in, followed by Donovan, and, to Sherlock's horror, also Anderson. The DI made the two man stay until the ambulance arrived and a doctor declared they were both only slightly injured and could go home. 'Honestly Lestrade, John could have told you that.' Sherlock had scoffed, but John was silent. Though Sherlock was still avoiding any eye contact, he had stayed close enough to touch the doctor the whole time.

After being dropped at Baker Street by Lestrade, John and Sherlock found themselves in an awkward silence in the living room. John was too curious…. He had to ask Sherlock…

'So Sherlock, about before…' He started uncomfortably.

'Yes John?' Sherlock looked at him. Eye contact. But it was different. The panic, the emotion, John had seen and heard from Sherlock earlier that night were gone. It were just the cold, distant grey eyes looking at him. He felt his courage disappear.

'Nothing.'

'Okay.'

'Good night Sherlock.'

'Good night John.'

While John walked up to his bedroom he knew the moment would come that he would gather enough courage. Or maybe Sherlock would….

Thank you for reading and reviewing! Have a nice weekend!


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you all so much for the reviews and follows! I really really like to hear what you think!

This chapter is a bit more johnlock-like…. Enjoy!

As usual: I don't own anything and I make no profit whatsoever!

**Chapter 8. intimacy.**

John had come home early from his date. He should have known it wasn't going to work out with Anna - he did not even really like her – but he felt like it had been too long since he had gone on a date. And also.. (John was a bit ashamed of admitting it, even to himself) he had found his thoughts wandering about Sherlock way too much these last days. Not in a romantic sense, he was straight after all, but just…. His flat mate was in mind all the time…. Especially since that mafia case a few weeks ago when Sherlock had said something like he wouldn't be worried if John would be in love with him… It had been such a simple sentence and yet it didn't leave John's thoughts. It was very confusing! Therefore he had decided to go on a date with a woman he met through work, even though he did not really fancy her.

Sherlock knew, of course, the second John walked in the room.

The detective was laying on the couch and quickly glanced at John when he came in.

'You didn't like her then?' He made it sound like a question but it was more a statement.

'Nope. I didn't.' No point in denying it.

Sherlock sad up straight while John went into the kitchen to make tea.

'Why do you go out with these women when you know you won't be having a good time, John?' Sherlock asked. 'It seems to me like a total waste of a perfectly good evening.'

'So your evening was very productive then?' John answered sarcastically. His friend seemed to not have moved from the couch since John left.

'Very productive.' Sherlock replied. Ignoring the sarcasm.

John returned to his tea, but now the detective seemed determined to have an answer.

'Why John? What is it that attracts you to date these women? The possibility of sex?'

'What?' John returned to the living room with two cups of tea. 'You think I go on dates because I hope to get laid at the end of the evening?' He put a cup of tea on the coffee table next to Sherlock.

'Yes.' His friend replied simply. 'It cannot be because of their stimulating company during dinner.'

'You're seriously thinking that's all there is to it, don't you?' John asked, a little shocked, while he sat in the chair across from Sherlock.

The detective gave him a puzzled look. 'What else are you looking for? Marriage?'

'There is more than marriage and sex, Sherlock!'

'Like what?'

'Like intimacy.'

The confused look on his friends' face told him this was something Sherlock was not familiar with. Why did that not surprise him…

'You know: cuddling, kissing, holding someone, being close…'

Sherlock's face turned from confused to disgusted. 'That is ridiculous John! Why would a grown man like you have needs like a child?'

John blushed involuntarily even though he was not ashamed. 'That is not ridiculous! That is very human! Everyone has those needs Sherlock. Even you.'

'No I don't' Sherlock spat while leaning back in the couch.

'You never felt the need to be touched or to sleep next to someone?' John asked in disbelieve. Even though this conversation had taken a rather awkward and unexpected turn he still wouldn't let a chance pass by to get to know a bit more about his sociopathic flat mate.

'No.' Sherlock said firmly. 'I definitely never experienced that. Why on earth would I want to be _cuddled_? I never even felt that desire when I was a child.'

'Honestly?' John couldn't believe his ears. He always knew Sherlock was… different. Really different. His needs and desires where not like others, or at least he did not seem to give in to them like most people did. That was clear from his non-existent eating and sleeping patterns. But to know that he never even felt this feeling of human contact…

'You really miss out on something Sherlock.' He said, hoping his voice would sound sincere and not mocking his friend. 'It is really a great feeling and it can be very comforting.'

Sherlock stared at him from the couch. His expression slowly became thoughtful.

'You think I should try it, then?' He asked.

John shrugged. 'If you want to, yes. I think it might be a good experience for you.'

'Hmmm..' Sherlock stared at the wall behind his flat mate. 'An experiment…'

John was startled. 'It said _experience_ Sherlock! Not _experiment._'

'Oh poteto, potato.' Sherlock waived his friends' comment away without looking at him. He leaned into the couch and brought his hands to chin, his fingertips touching. This could be interesting…

John made another attempt: 'I mean it Sherlock! You can't randomly experiment with this! It must involve another person and that person might have other ideas about it than you! You could end up hurting someone's feelings. Or they could end up hurting you!'

But the detective seemed not listen to him. His mind was gazing away at this sudden new opportunity. An experiment… and a completely different one than ever before… Interesting. And definitely not boring!

John gave up. 'I'm going to bed.' He said while getting up and walking towards the stairs. 'Please don't run off and do something stupid.'

There was no response.

'Goodnight.'

Nothing.

'I knew I shouldn't have had this conversation with you…' John mumbled more to himself than to Sherlock, and went upstairs.

Sherlock's brain was racing while he sat still on the couch. This was very interesting. He had indeed never experienced intimacy before. The whole thing of being close to someone had never appealed to him. Not physically or emotionally. He did not understand what people found so likable about it. But John was right: it was something most people seemed to enjoy. He had to try it and see what the attractiveness about the whole issue was. Most likely, it would not be good. After all, human interaction such as sex and relationships had not been a pleasurable experience for him in the past. But he had tried it. Intimacy, in the way John described it, he had never tried. This must be fixed.

Sherlock was decided: he would be intimate with someone. The question was: with who? There were really not that many people in his life… His mind quickly passed them all:

Work related? Sally and Anderson were out of the question, for obvious reasons. It was a disgusting idea but Sherlock smiled at himself by the thought of him walking up to Anderson at the next crime scene saying: 'How about a cuddle?' That face would be priceless… Hmm, that could be an experiment for another time. Back to the matter at hand…

Lestrade? No definitely not. The man had enough of a sexual identity crisis as it was. Molly? That might not be so bad and she would be a willing participant, but he had heard John's warning about how intimacy could mean different things to others… It would be highly inconvenient if afterwards Molly's feelings would be hurt to an extent that would prevent her from providing supplies for his experiments… So, not Molly either. Well, that ruled out everyone work related.

The Woman? No, too far away and definitely she would want more than a cuddle.

Who else? Mycroft? Ugh, no! That would not only eliminate the possibility of receiving 'comfort' as John put it, but it was also completely ridiculous and almost against nature to imagine Mycroft tightly hugging him… Aaarhg! No.

Mrs Hudson then? She was at times behaving like a mother and she was also the only one Sherlock would allow to occasionally sort of hug him. However, this intimacy thing went beyond hugging… Not really an area where he wanted to go with his landlady…

That leaves only one person.

But when? Sherlock smirked. No better time than the present.

He hesitated for a second in front of his flat mates bedroom door, but then he quietly pushed it open and went inside. John was sleeping on his side. Shirtless. Completely still. Sherlock crouched down by his bedside. 'John?'

No response. A bit louder: 'John!'

'Hmmm?' John opened his eyes and looked right into Sherlock's face next to his bed.

'What? What is it?' He sad upright immediately. 'Are you okay? Is there a case?'

'I'm fine, John. There's no case.'

'Oh.' John leaned back down and rubbed his eyes. 'Then why are you here, Sherlock?'

'I thought about what you said and I want to try it.'

John was confused. 'Try what? What are you talking about?'

'Intimacy John. Do keep up.' Sherlock said annoyed.

John gave him an irritated look. 'Well, congratulations. Why are you waking me up to say that?'

'Because I need you for it.' Sherlock stated casually.

'Need me for what?' Maybe he was still sleepy but John really didn't follow what his friend was talking about.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Intimacy, John. I want to try it. Now.'

'With me?' John nearly shouted at him.

'Obviously.'

'Sherlock, don't be ridiculous. You can't just burst into my room and demand me being _intimate _with you. That's absurd. Go away and let me sleep.' John wanted to pull his covers up and turn his back to Sherlock when his friend spoke again.

'But John, you're the only one I can try it with. You say it can be good and comforting so I want to experience it. You're the only one I trust and I think you trust me.'

John stared at him and sighed. He must be totally crazy but….

'Okay then. Come on.' He shifted back in the bed to make room for Sherlock who eagerly got up and climbed in the bed. John rubbed his eyes again. 'You are crazy you know that. I am crazy too. If anyone ever finds out about this…'

'Don't worry John.' Sherlock said while pulling off his dressing-gown. 'I have no intention of sharing this with anyone and I know you won't either.'

The men sat up in bed next to each other. 'What is the next step?' Sherlock asked as if they were in a scientific experiment. John thought that his friend probably did think about the situation that way…. This was a recipe for disaster, he thought while he laid back down on his side.

'Okay.' He said to Sherlock. 'Come here.'

Sherlock slid down until he faced John. The doctor carefully wrapped one arm around his friend and pulled him close. Sherlock let John move him and nestled himself close to John's chest.

'What do I do with my hands?' He asked.

John chuckled. 'Doesn't matter. Whatever feels comfortable.'

The detective kept his hands were they were: at John's side. Not quite hugging him. He laid his head to his friends' chest, touching his warm skin. He felt the doctors hand on his back and another one in his hair. Strange feeling, this cuddling. Not entirely unpleasant but also not really 'comforting'. Maybe that was also because he could feel how tense every inch of John's body was against him. His heartbeat was slightly elevated. But then, Sherlock discovered, so was his own. Interesting.

John tried to tell himself to relax. Okay, this was weird, but this was Sherlock: always weird. But this, having Sherlock in bed with him, pressed against his bare chest, this was a whole different kind of weird. It would be good for his friend to experience how nice it feels to be close to someone. Physically. And he also felt a little honored Sherlock had chosen him for this. However, he couldn't deny that this was totally weird and he could not get his muscles to let go and relax.

Sherlock's dark curls almost tickled his nose. They smelled so good. For a second he forgot himself and buried his nose in his friends soft hair.

Of course Sherlock immediately responded. 'Did you just smell my hair?' He almost yelled.

'Said the man with his cheek to my nipple!' John spat back. 'And I _wasn't _smelling your hair! I was… wiping my nose..' He added tentatively.

After a second of silence both men burst out in a giggle. They felt each other's body shake with laughter. John let go of Sherlock to lean back and look at his friend.

'Maybe this experiment isn't working, Sherlock.'

'Thank God you agree.' Sherlock smiled while rolling out of his friends' arms.

They were both laying on their back and still chuckling when John stretched and yawned. 'Well, that was fun but now I really have to sleep.'

Sherlock turned on his side. 'Mind if I stay?'

John pulled the covers up and closed his eyes. 'Whatever Sherlock.'

'Does this still counts as intimacy?'

John smiled without opening his eyes. 'I would think so. You're in my bed.'

'Thanks John.'

Yeah, yeah. Now shut up and let me sleep.'

'Okay John.'

'Good night.'

'Good night.'

When John woke up the next morning Sherlock was gone. He got out of bed to get ready for work and noticed the detective was not at home, but there was a note next to the teapot: _'Lestrade called. Double homicide. Thanks for your assistance last night. SH' _

John smiled. Hopefully this meant that things would not get awkward between them.

Things didn't get awkward. In fact, Sherlock and John were comfortably not speaking about the intimacy-experiment. John didn't think it would have to come up again at all, until one night a week or two later….

The detective and his blogger came home late after a particularly vicious case. A killer had murdered two young girls, children really, and abducted a third. Finally, Sherlock had found the decisive lead to his location. They found the killer. Unfortunately, he had cut the girls' throat just two minutes before their arrival, and John established that she had bled to death just in the seconds before. Even though the killer was caught everyone was shaken and defeated. Even Anderson and Donovan refrained from mocking Sherlock at the crime scene.

Once at home, John felt tired and nauseous. The case had really affected him. Sherlock seemed like his usual self: cold and detached. No emotions whatsoever were showing in his face or his behavior. John had tried, in the taxi on the way home, to make Sherlock open up by asking how he felt, but, as usual, Sherlock had given an insignificant answer. John decided not to push it. He knew the detective well enough to know that he was shaken and upset with himself about not finding the girl two minutes earlier, but he also knew that Sherlock would not be forced into a conversation about it.

'I'm going to bed.' John said while hanging his coat over the chair. 'Thank God this awful case is over.'

Sherlock didn't respond. He lied down on the couch and starred at the ceiling.

'Do you need anything?' John asked. But when there was no reply again he just turned and went upstairs. Hopefully he could get some sleep after all this.

Meanwhile, Sherlock lay on the couch, deep in thoughts. This case had been particularly brutal, yes, but there had been more brutal cases in his career. Even the occasional one involving children. Why did this case affect him so much? What was this terrible nagging feeling? This little voice in his head: two minutes! Just two minutes earlier and you could have saved that little girl!

It was driving him mad. He got up and took his violin, but it didn't help. He needed something else. Drugs? No. John would kill him. Besides, this feeling didn't seem to be fixed by drugs… Sherlock sat down again and tried to examine this annoying _emotion_. It was a cold nagging sensation. He felt like pulling his legs up and wrapping his arms around himself. He felt like… like he was in need of comfort.

_Oh._

Immediately he jumped to his feet and went up the stairs. He threw the door to John's bedroom open. Not surprisingly, John was still awake and looked at him in surprise.

'I figured out why the experiment didn't work last time.' Sherlock heard his own voice sounding unstable. Damn these emotions! John opened his mouth to say something but Sherlock continued: 'It was the timing. It was poorly timed because I wasn't in need of comforting so an essential element for the hypothesis was missing. However, I decided it is too early to state that it has failed..'

He wanted to say more but John interrupted him: 'Sherlock, shut up and get in here.'

Sherlock immediately climbed next to John in bed without even taking off his dressing-gown. The detective curled up against the other man's chest and felt how John's hand started making showing circles over his back.

They didn't speak.

Sherlock felt the accusing voice in his head fade away as John arms around him warmed his insides and took away the nagging cold.

He slowly felt himself calm down against John's relaxed body. He felt.. comforted.

Remarkable.

Experiment successful.

Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think! Too much Johnlock? Or not enough? And how would you like the story to continue?

Thank you thank you thank you!


	9. Chapter 9

Dear readers, thank you so much for visiting my story! I am sorry there is a lot of time between the updates!

Please let me know what you think and how you would like the story to continue!

Disclaimer: I disclaim owning any of the characters J

**Chapter 9.**

John was tired. The case he and Sherlock had been working on took all day, all night and then again all day. It was nine in the evening and John desperately needed to sleep. Just a few hours. He never understood how his friend could carry on investigating a case when his body must also be screaming for rest. It must be. He is human after all. Sherlock must just be ignoring it. But how? How? John did not know. He was too tired to think about it.

The case was rather fascinating though. A murderess (Sherlock was convinced it was a woman, as it had been the result of some deductions neither John nor Lestrade could follow, especially not after being awake for over 36 hours) had killed two men who seemed to have very little in common, except that they had cheated on their wives and that they both visited the monthly parents information evenings in a local elementary school. Their children were both starting school in September. However, they had not visited on the same night so it seemed they had never met. The murderess must therefore be someone who met them at these meetings. Maybe one of the teachers in the school? Maybe one the parents who would assist in these evenings? Sherlock was determined to find out. When he knew there was another meeting tonight he had to go. And John had to go with him. No matter how tired he was. So now they were walking through a quiet, posh area of London. Sherlock a few meters ahead of him, energetic and single-minded as always.

'I need to sleep Sherlock!'

'Dull.' Responded his friend. 'Honestly John, where is your sense of adventure? The thrill of the chase! Catching a cold-hearted killer! Making the world a safer place! That should appeal to _you_ of all people.'

If his words were meant to put some fire into John it might have worked until they turned the corner and faced the elementary school were this dangerous murder would be plotting her evil plan….

'Well, I admit this is a bit of an anticlimax….' Sherlock stated calmly as they looked at the low, blue and green colored building that seemed to be shaped like a pie-piece. Warm light came from behind the children's paintings on the windows. The building was surrounded by an inviting looking playground. John had never seen a place less likely to host a murderer.

'Let's go, doctor.' Sherlock called over his shoulder as he walked toward the building.

'Wait, Sherlock, we need a plan!' John hastily walked over and grabbed the detective's arm. 'I have a plan.' Sherlock sounded almost insulted to notice John had doubted that.

'I know _you_ do but if _I _ don't know about it I will not go with you.' John hissed.

Sherlock sighed in annoyance and started walking again. 'It's very simple John. This a gathering for couples who contemplate enrolling their child into this school. So that's what we'll be for tonight.'

'What?! Are you mad?'

'We have to blend in, don't we?' Sherlock asked as they stepped into the playground.

'Yes, but-'

'And we cannot avoid superstition if we didn't pretend to be a couple?'

'No, but-'

'And you have nothing against homosexuals, do you?'

'Of course not, but that doesn't mean I will go in there pretending to be your _husband_.'

'John.' Sherlock said. 'You already did.'

John looked confused for a second but then he realized they were already standing inside the school. On both sides of the rather spacious hallway were hooks for coats. They were low, children's height, but the parents seemed to be using them that night as John saw large, mostly dark coats touching the floor hanging from the hooks.

'So?' Sherlock's voice sounded impatient. 'Are you helping me catch this killer or not?'

John rubbed his eyes. He was so tired. Too tired to argue.

'Fine.'

Sherlock clearly had not expected any other response.

'Good. So let's go in.'

'Wait a minute.' John stopped his friend who was about to leave the hallway.

'We need to agree on a few things.'

'Like what?'

'The name of the child, for example?'

'O, make something up John, I really don't care!'

'And that's way we will never be married.' John said quietly as he followed Sherlock into the main hall. The stopped at the entrance of the hall.

There were many, many parents in the school that night. They were walking around looking into the classrooms which were apparently centered around the triangle-shaped hall.

'Okay.' Sherlock's eyes were quickly glances over the space. 'We should stay together and mingle. You do the chit-chat and I will find the killer.'

'As per usual.' John added sarcastically, but Sherlock didn't notice.

John saw he wanted to walk into the crowd. 'Sherlock?'

'What now John?'

'We are a couple.'

Sherlock gave him an annoyed and confused look. 'So what?'

'We should probably do something couples do?'

'Ow yes, right.'

John extended his hand to Sherlock but his friend seemed to have totally missed that John meant for them to hold hands… Sherlock stepped back to John, put his hand on his shoulder and softly pressed his lips against John's.

It was not like the kiss they had shared before for Sherlock's experiment weeks ago. Then Sherlock had been ruff, but now he was gentle and careful. It would have looked totally natural to anyone seeing the two of them, were it not for the fact that Johns eyes were wide open in shock. He put his hand on his friends' chest and tried to smoothly push him away.

When Sherlock let go he smiled at John as if he was proud to have pulled the kiss of convincingly, until he saw John's face. He turned at stood next to him, trying to look casual.

'Not good?'

John stiffened, and hoped no one saw that. 'Bit not good yeah.'

'But you suggested it!' Sherlock whispered angrily without looking at John.

John's urge to yell at Sherlock made it hard for him to stay in character. 'I meant we should hold hands, you idiot!' He hissed.

'Oh.' Sherlock seemed slightly… embarrassed. The two men stood next to each other in an uncomfortable silence for a few seconds.

'Okay…' John took a deep breath. '… let's go.'

He grabbed Sherlock's hand and they walked into the crowd.

'I, ehm, I'm sorry for the misunderstanding.' Sherlock murmured.

'It's fine. Let's just not kiss again, shall we?'

Sherlock didn't reply but smiled slightly.

The mingling was easy enough for John. He always had a gift to talk to strangers and make them feel comfortable around him. Most of the people at the gathering were nice, middle-class parents who had no problem with John and Sherlock's 'special situation'. In his head, John had named their son Mark. It was easy to remember and he had always liked that name. He was ready to say it when one of the moms who had been talking about her daughter Clodette for about ten minutes finally asked: 'So what about your son? What is his name?'

But Sherlock, who had let John do the talking for most of the night, was faster than him: 'Hamish.'

Sherlock quickly beamed at John, but John didn't notice as he had to make a very serious effort to hide his surprise.

'That is a… lovely name! Unusual though.' The lady said. Clearly, she hated the name, but Sherlock pretended not to notice.

'Thank you. It is a family name and John's middle name.' The smile he gave John could be mistaken for a sincere one through the eye of an outsider, but John could recognize one of Sherlock's fake impressions of emotions immediately.

'Excuse us for a second.' He said to the lady and led Sherlock away from the people.

'What?'

'I am not getting anything from these stupid people.' Sherlock complained. 'They are nothing but dull and talk about how great their respective offspring is.'

'This is a parents meeting in a school, Sherlock. Of course they talk about their children.'

'Well, I cannot stand by and let my brain cells be slowly killed off by these mind-numbing people. I am going to look around. Maybe I'll have more luck in the teachers office.'

And with that Sherlock turned and walked away. Letting go of John's hand in the process.

'Sherlock?' John hissed. 'Sherlock!' But his friend disappeared between the 'mind-numbing people' and John was alone.

Strange. His hand felt a bit cold.

John was not left alone for long….

'Hi, I am Emy. I heard your conversation with Camille before.' A young women smiled friendly at John while extending her hand to him. John smiled back and shook her hand. Warm. Nice, but different from Sherlock's hand…

'Hi, I am John.'

'I heard your son's name is Hamish.'

'Yes.' John tried to make a proud face. 'Hamish is a family name.'

'That is so nice. My husband insisted we named out daughter after his grandmother, Gertrude, but I said I found it too old-fashion so now it is her second name. But to be honest with you, I just really don't like the name Gertrude.'

She laughed at him and John laughed back. They talked some more about their children and John's gift with people made Emy open up to him about her personal life.

'My husband works so much. Sometimes I feel like I am raising our daughters by myself, do you know what I mean?'

'Yes I do. Sherlock is always running around for his work, leaving me alone… with Hamish.' He quickly added. Emy hadn't noticed.

'Derrick is just so focused on his career and whenever I ask for more time with him he tells me he is doing all of this for me, for the girls, and with that I cannot argue of course.' She smiled bitterly. 'He didn't use to be like that. He used to adore me, take days off to be with me all the time. Children change everything I guess…. Not that I regret them or something! Well, I am sure you know what I'm talking about.'

John gave her an understanding look, but from the inside he was laughing at the image of Sherlock stopping all his work for a day to be with John. That would be ridiculous. Imagine if he and Sherlock would raise a child together! Suddenly John saw a picture in his mind of them picnicking in the park with a toddler running around. Sherlock would teach him deductions and science, but John would make sure he would also know how to interact with people, to feel empathy, love…

A strange feeling came over John. Was it desire? What brought this on? Maybe that unexpected kiss from Sherlock? But before he could investigate this uncomfortable emotion Emy's voice brought him back to the conversation.

'I can tell you know what I am talking about. It is difficult isn't it? To love someone who seems so dedicated to something other than you?'

John knew he could only agree. 'Yes it is.'

'But at least we know we are still the only ones loved by our husbands.' Emy's voice suddenly sounded secretive and she shot a quick glance at the woman John spoke to before. 'She is less lucky. I heard she found out last month that her husband had been cheating on her for over a year.'

'Really? That's awful!' John's thoughts were suddenly all back to the case. He needed to know more about this, but without showing his interest in the matter… Luckily, Emy hardly needed any encouragement to continue gossiping.

'Yes it is! But let's be honest; the woman speaks of nothing but how great her daughter is. That would drive anyone crazy. Did you know she goes to every one of these meetings? And they are still together! I hear she cannot leave him because she will get no money whatsoever after the divorce and then her precious Clodette will not be able to get into the prestigious education which her life seemingly depends on. I hear it is eating her up completely.'

Emy smirked with malicious delight.

John's quickly glanced around the room looking for Sherlock, but of course he was nowhere to be seen. He had to go look for him and tell him about Camille. But Emy was enjoying his company too much. She had totally missed the fact that she had lost John's attention.

'Do you have a picture of Hamish?'

'Ehm..' The question caught John off guard. Naturally, he had to have a picture of his son with him… 'Emh…' Then he remembered something. 'Yes I have one of course.' He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. 'Here you go, this is my little boy.' He handed her a photo of a young boy with blonde hair and deep, grey eyes who smiled carefree into the camera.

'He is adorable.' Emy purred as she put her hand on John's arm.

'He is, isn't he?' Said a deep voice behind John. A warm hand slid into his own.

'Sherlock, this is Emy.' John smiled at his friend, but Sherlock was looking intensely at Emy. She smiled at him, but not in the same way she had smiled at John, and quickly took her hand of John's arm.

'Nice to meet you.' Sherlock said in an ice cold voice.

'You too.' Emy said. She did not attempt to make them shake hands. Clever women, John thought. If Sherlock had given him that look (and he had in the past) he would withdraw. And Emy did. With a last warm smile for John.

'Who was that?' Sherlock asked. He sounded a bit angry. John wondered if he was jealous of the woman flirting with his pretend-husband.

'Lighten up, she was nice. Are you jealous?' He grinned. Sherlock gave him a look which was dangerously close to the one he had given Emy, so John dropped the subject.

'She gave me some useful information though.'

'Good, because I didn't find a thing in the offices of the teachers. Nice picture by the way. Your cousins' child I presume?'

John looked stunned. 'How did you…'

'That child is clearly related to you, but your sister Harry has no children. You told me last week that you saw your cousin Jack so I assume this is a picture of his son?'

'Yes, this is Steve. Jack brought him to see me at the clinic last week. Steve just had his picture taken. He gave me one and he insisted I kept it in my wallet just like his dad does. I guess it is a good thing I don't clean out my wallet very often.' John chuckled. 'But anyway, Emy told me…'

'Not here John.' Sherlock interrupted him. 'It is ten o'clock and the school is closing.'

John noticed the people slowly moving towards the exit.

'Oh, okay. Let's go, I'll tell you on the way.'

They walked out, still holding hands, over the playground and into the calm night. When they were out of side of all the parents, John started telling Sherlock about Camille and her situation as the cheated wife.

'She might be frustrated enough to take it out on other men cheating on their wives, considering she cannot take revenge on her own husband.' John thought out loud.

'Possible.' Sherlock confirmed.

'Some of those people are crazy.' John continued. 'All they think about is their children's future. Emy told me she and her husband barely have any time for each other due to his work and their daughters.' Sherlock made an annoyed face when hearing Emy's name, but John ignored it.

'People get obsessed with their relationship and start to think the children might be the reason they are growing apart. How awful is that?! Sometimes I am glad I am single. I really don't need anything like that.'

Sherlock smiled at his friends' speech.

'What?' John asked.

'John.' Sherlock said calmly without looking at his friend. 'If you don't need anything like that, why are you still holding my hand?'

'… Oh…' John glanced down at their comfortably intertwined hands, but he didn't let go.

And neither did Sherlock.

Please, please, please review! It inspires me to write more, and without reviews I assume no one is reading ;)

Many thanks!


	10. Chapter 10

Hi dear readers! I am sorry it took so long! This chapter is a bit short…. But I hope you'll enjoy it!

Disclaimer: ... well you know it by now, don't you?

**Chapter 10. A study in revenge.**

John was dragging himself up the stairs of 221b Baker Street. He was tired. His feet were aching and he had a headache. All he wanted to do was sit on the couch with a nice cup of tea, put his feet up and watch something dull on TV.

John had spent the whole day on a new project in the clinic: providing health and hygiene sessions for schoolchildren. He had volunteered for the job because he liked the idea of teaching. Also, he was very good with kids. And though it was lovely, 3 groups of 20 over-excited 7-year olds was a bit much… John tried to make interactive classes and let the children do small experiments. This had proven to be a good idea since they could hardly sit still and listen to him for 10 minutes. But then the rest of the day John had been running around answering questions while being addressed as 'Doctor John'. He had fun though….

He really did like kids, John though as smiled to himself and opened the door to the apartment. His smile instantly disappeared as he looked into the living room. It was a mess. There were cool boxes everywhere. He couldn't even reach the couch. And there was a strong and nauseating smell of…. disinfection, mixed with chemicals and burned flesh… It was horrible. It was sickening. And it could only have one cause..

'SHERLOCK!'

John tried to make his way to the kitchen, which was quite a challenge considering the number of coolers piled up in the small space.

'Not now, John! I'm busy.' The voice of his brilliant but overly annoying flat mate came from somewhere in the kitchen area.

John angrily tried to get to him, and almost tripped over one of the coolers. In an attempt to keep his balance he hit his ankle to another box.

'Aw! Jesus, Sherlock what the hell are you doing?' John cursed. 'What is with all the damn coolers. Do I even want to know what is in there?'

Sherlock was sitting on the kitchen table, surrounded by coolers. He looked up from his microscope and starred into the space in front of him a few seconds before answering. He was clearly annoyed by John's questions.

'Body parts.'

John had seen his friends' characteristic stating-the-obvious-face. He was not in a mood to argue with the detective now.

'Fine.' John his hissed through his teeth. He climbed back over the boxes to get to the stairs. 'I'll just go to my room.'

'I wouldn't do that if I were you.' Sherlock said without looking up.

John stopped with one foot on a box. 'And why not?' He had a bad feeling he knew the answer to his own question and he to make an effort to keep his calm.

Sherlock looked up and starred at him. Annoyed.

John starred back.

The answer remained unspoken because it was not necessary.

'Sherlock, you annoying git!' John yelled. 'Isn't it enough that you use the whole living room for your stupid experiments?' He waived his arms to the room around him, almost losing his balance in the process. 'You had to put more of _your_ crap in my room?'

'It is _our _house John. And there was not enough space here. Would you stop whining?' Sherlock snapped back.

'This is bloody unbelievable!' John shook his head. 'I'm going out.' He started making his way to the door. 'But we can't go on like this, Sherlock.'

If the detective heard him he didn't show it. John rushed down the stairs and slammed the door behind him. The cold air in his face made him calm down a bit. John put his hands in his pockets and started walking. Sherlock was so selfish. He didn't even see how annoying and egoistic his behavior was. It had always been bad but now this was getting out of hand! Sherlock needs to understand why he cannot do this. John took a deep breath. What if he would show his friend? What if he started doing some bloody annoying experiment of his own? John grinned to himself. Revenge! Now, he thought, what would annoy Sherlock the most?

Sherlock was irritated. He had always known the people of the Yard were not the smartest but this case was really too easy. A child could have solved it. Ridiculous. Sometimes he wondered if he should stop helping Lestrade as it might push him to look harder himself. But then again, what would he do without cases? Even the extremely simple ones were better than being bored at home. Fortunately he would not be bored this afternoon, Sherlock thought as he remembered leaving the cool boxes in the house today. John and his complaints would not be home till six so he would have hours to continue conducting his experiment.

But when he opened the front door he heard voices from upstairs. That wasn't John, he thought as he climbed the stairs. That wasn't Mrs. Hudson. That were several people. 15 at least. No wait, 20 maybe. And it sounded like… Sherlock pushed the door open... Children.

Lots of them.

Climbing on the couch. Hanging in his favorite chair. Sitting on the coffee table.

Sherlock was shocked.

'JOHN!'

'Not now Sherlock, I'm busy.' John's voice came from the kitchen area.

No! Sherlock thought in horror. Not the kitchen. Not the coolers!

'What on earth is this, John. What are all these children doing in _my _house? On _my_ chair? In _my_ kitchen?'

John gave him an evil grin from the other end of the kitchen table. 'I thought it was _our _ house, Sherlock?'

'But… Where did they _come from?'_ Sherlock sounded as if he had discovered a plague of cockroaches while gesturing with his arms to the kids sitting at the kitchen table (some of them _on _the kitchen table). 'Even you can't procreate that fast!'

Seeing Sherlock's face like that made John was a little worried Sherlock might actually have a panic attack or something. 'Easy Sherlock. They are the kids from the clinic. I am teaching them about health and hygiene today, but since it was extremely busy in the clinic this morning I took them here.'

Sherlock stared at him. Horrified. 'Why? Why would you do that to me, John? You know too much stupidity in the room gives me a headache! You know I can hardly stand Anderson for more than ten minutes, and yet you bring 21 noisy 7-yearolds to use the living room as a playground!'

John looked at him. 'Annoying, isn't it? When you can't have any space in your own home because your flat mate completely disrespects the fact that you live here too.'

The men stared at each other for a few seconds without speaking. John knew Sherlock had understood the message, but he was much, much too proud to ever admit it.

Then Sherlock looked away. 'I'll be back by six.'

'You're welcome to stay and help me.'

'No, thank you.' Sherlock said sarcastically while making his way to the door. On the way he glanced at the group of kids sitting around the coffee table.

'That better not be my microscope they are using, John!' He hissed at his friend.

'It is not, don't worry.'

'Oh.' Sherlock took another look at the group.

'You'll leave see anything sharp if you keep shoving it around like that.' He snapped at one of the kids. The boy looked up. 'I do too!'

'You do not!' Sherlock walked over to the coffee table. 'What is that hideous drawing?' He pointed at the paper filled with doodles next to the microscope.

'That's the flu!' The boy beamed.

'Pfft' Sherlock snorted. 'The influenza virus looks nothing like that. Move over!' He ordered the boy while he sat down in the middle of the group and started adjusting the microscope.

'Now look again.' The kids gathered around the device to get a look while Sherlock gave the boy directions on how to adjust his drawing.

John saw it all in surprise. Maybe he had underestimated Sherlock… His revenge had not agitated the detective nearly as much as the coolers had agitated John, but it seemed to have worked none the less. And he got to see an unexpected but very welcome side of his friend…. Maybe he should bring kids around more often…

Sherlock looked up at John and said, seemingly reading his mind: 'Don't even think about it, John!'

Thank you very much for reading! Please, please review! It's so good to hear what you think!


	11. Chapter 11

Hi dear reader! Sorry it took so long :s I don't have enough time! Please read and enjoy….

Oh and of course: I don't own or make profit! (But I wouldn't mind if BBC stole my idea for season 3…. ;)

**Chapter 11. Fighting and confessing.**

Sherlock was pacing back and forth through the living room. He was restless. He was angry. He couldn't wait for John to come home so he could yell at him.

Earlier that evening, he had left Scotland Yard after he had turned down Lestrade's ridiculous requests to interview a particularly stupid witness. Once at home he realized John was not with him and since he urgently needed him and his phone was switched off, he went to the local bar he knew John frequently went to for a beer with Lestrade. He saw John with what appeared to be one of his _dates, _while they were talking about him. More precisely, John was talking about Sherlock…. Though he had always known he wasn't the best friend or flat mate for the doctor, he still thought John _liked _him somehow. After everything they had been through they were still partners, flat mates, friends…. How could John say such cruel things about him to that mindless, dull, ugly woman? Well, he would tell him when he got home! John was boring. His life was boring. He would still be limping miserably around London if it wasn't for Sherlock. And oh, was he going to tell him that!

Sherlock heard the key turn in the lock at the front door. He instantly threw himself down on the couch and closed his eyes in an attempt to look relax and uninterested.

Seconds later John walked into the room.

'Hi.' He said while passing Sherlock on his way to the kitchen. Most likely to make tea.

Sherlock did not say anything.

'Did you have a nice evening?' John asked.

Again, Sherlock did not speak or move.

John was still in the kitchen and had obviously not noticed Sherlock was ignoring him.

'I had a very informative evening, especially around 7:30 tonight.' Sherlock tried to hide his anger but John must have heard it because he came out of the kitchen with a confused look.

'What?'

'You heard me.'

'What happened at 7:30?'

Sherlock snapped up and stared at John from the couch. 'You tell me?'

John's confused expression turned into an angry one. 'What do you mean _you tell me_? What is your problem?'

'Since I am such an insensitive and insufferable flat mate who you can't wait to get rid of, it seems more like _you _ are the one with a problem!' Sherlock saw that John realized he just literally quoted what John had said to his _date _at 7:30 that evening. Unlike he expected John did not try to apologize…

'What were you doing eavesdropping on my conversation?'

'It's probably a good thing I did, because now I know what you really think about me!'

John yelled: 'What is the point in explaining if you have already made up your mind?'

Sherlock got up from the couch. 'Explain what? Why you were insulting me?'

John laughed sarcastically. 'Insulting you?'

'Yes! What were you trying to do? Make your date laugh about your intolerable flat mate? What, none of your regular jokes worked out?'

Sherlock walked towards John, anger flaming in his eyes. 'Or is insulting me and complaining about me part of your usual repertoire? I had expected you to be more grateful?'

John was angry now too. 'Grateful, Sherlock? What for?'

'Without me your life would be boring and miserable and filled with those insignificant women you date but leave the second I call for you.' Sherlock spat.

'What? What is that supposed to mean?'

Sherlock put his hands on the kitchen table between him and the doctor. 'It means, John, that despite your claim of me being insensitive and insufferable, you still prefer to be with me than with any of your dates because you know I am the reason your life isn't as dull and mind-numbing as theirs!'

BANG 'Stop it Sherlock!' John hit the table. 'Do you ever stop to consider that maybe it isn't _me _needing _you,_ but _you _needing _me_!' He yelled at the detective while they were now both leaning on either side of the table. 'Do you realize I am the only friend you have and the only reason you are so insanely angry of me for taking to that woman – which was for a _case _ by the way, Lestrade asked me to flirt and get information out of her after you offended her –' he stopped briefly to breath and then continued, 'The only reason you are so upset over that right now is because you are afraid of me leaving.'

Sherlock snorted. 'Like you would leave _me_ for _her_.'

'Don't be so fucking condescending Sherlock!' John yelled in his face. He was about to say more but Sherlock was faster and louder: 'Admit it, John! All of them are boring compared to me! You don't want any of them and you know it!'

'You're just afraid I might actually find someone who loves me!'

'I love you!' Sherlock yelled.

John responded without thinking: 'No you don't! You can't! You're the most self-centered man I ever met. You only love yourself!'

Sherlock stared at him. He slowly leaned back from the table. He spoke again quietly but still full of anger: 'Maybe I should leave.'

'Allow me!' John turned around and left the kitchen, slamming the kitchen door behind him. Sherlock took a deep breath and went into his room, looking for his suitcase.

John run down the stairs. Stamping angrily on each step as he was going down. 'That arrogant bastard.' He thought to himself. 'How dare he talk to me like that. I have put up with this demeaning attitude of him for too long. Enough is enough!' John stepped down the stairs and into the hall. 'Stupid jerk!' He yanked the front door open. 'Yelling at me only because of that stupid, insignificant woman I talked to!' He closed the door and walked into the street. 'How dare he say none of those women can compete with him? Who does he think he is? Saying I will never leave him? Saying he loves me!'

…!

Wait a minute….

John stopped abruptly in the middle of the street. Had Sherlock just said he _loved_ him? He had, hadn't he…? A car was beeping behind him but John didn't hear it. He went back to the memory of the conversation…

_'You're just afraid I might actually find someone who loves me!'_

_'I love you!'_

I love you….

I love you….

Oh shit!

John turned around and ran back to Baker Street. All around him cares were beeping now, but he ignored it! What was he going to say to Sherlock? Was this even something he wanted to talk about? How did he feel about this? John couldn't answer any of these questions to himself, but his feet were bringing him back to Baker Street faster than he had ever ran in his life….

He unlocked the door and ran up the stairs taking three steps at the time. 'Sherlock?'

He turned the corner, up the last steps and into the living room. 'Sherlock?' His flat mate was not there. He heard a sound from inside his room. John yanked the door of the detectives' room open without knocking. Inside was a mess. Clothes, mostly dressy ones, were laying all around the room and a large suitcase was open on the bed.

'What are you doing? John asked Sherlock who was in front of his closet, throwing clothes in the general direction of the suitcase.

'What does it look like I'm doing, John?' Sherlock hissed without looking at him.

'I am leaving! I had enough of this!' He yelled. 'This is clearly not an environment suitable for my work. I thought we could live here together but obviously I was wrong.'

'Sherlock…' John tried. But Sherlock ranted on without paying any attention to the doctor.

'I have put up with so much from you, John! You are boring and ignorant and I have to explain even the most simple things over and over and over to you!

'Sherlock, stop for a second!' But it was useless.

'Your limb and your depression disappeared because of me and because of the danger I brought into your life. That was _me_! I don't see any of your dates making your nightmares go away or contributing to your life in any meaningful way at all!'

'Sherlock!'

'I jumped of a building to protect _you_! And then I came back from the dead because _your _life was a total mess! But when I point out just how much you need me..-'

Sherlock couldn't continue because John had leaped across the room, grabbed Sherlock by his shirt and pressed his lips against the detectives'.

He kept them together for a second and then awkwardly let go.

Sherlock was stunned.

Speechless too.

He stared at John with a mix or horror and confusion.

John took a deep breath and said: 'Good. You're finally quiet. Now that I have your attention I would like to say something.' He couldn't hide the anger in his voice. 'You are not leaving. You left once and you don't get to do it again until you're actually dying, do you understand me? You are staying here and so am I, and that's the end of this.'

He walked back to the door and turned around in the opening. 'So unpack and clean up this mess!' He slammed the door behind him.

John walked into the living room. His legs were shaking and his hands were sweaty. Did he just _kiss_ Sherlock Holmes?

Oh God!

He sank down on the couch and hid his face in his hands. What had he done? This was a disaster. Where to go from here?

'Ahum…'

John looked up and saw Sherlock standing nervously in the door opening.

Shit. He couldn't look at him. John leaned back in the couch while Sherlock sat down next to him, placing his elbows on his knees.

They didn't speak or look at each other.

John's thoughts were racing but he was definitely not going to speak.

After what seemed like an hour, Sherlock cleared his throat and spoke. 'John… I think you are probably right. I probably can't love the way other people can…'

Shit! John thought, _that's _what he wants to talk about?! 'Sherlock… I didn't mean..'

'Let me finish, John, or I never get through this!'

Sherlock was still leaning forward, not looking at John and speaking quickly. 'I have never loved anyone and I never felt the need to find someone to love. When I said I was married to my work I meant it! When I said I don't have friends I meant it! The way you feel about the women you date and the fact that you will find someone who will love you back some day makes me… jealous…. Because I know that perhaps I can't love or care or show affection like others, I want you to know that if I _could_ feel any of that… if I _could _love anyone… it would be you, John. Only you.'

Silence.

John felt like he couldn't move. Like he couldn't breathe. He sat frozen next to Sherlock.

Sherlock fidgeted. Ruffled his hair. Glanced briefly at John.

'For God sake, say _something_, John!'

John forced himself to speak. His voice was more steady than he felt. 'Okay.'

'Okay, what?' Sherlock replied immediately.

'Okay for everything. When I said it's all fine I meant it.'

Sherlock stared at him and then smiled tentatively, biting his lip. 'What do we do now?' he asked.

'I don't know.' John responded.

'What will change?'

'I don't know!'

'How are we going to figure this out?'

'I don't know!'

'John, how can you not know anything?'

John smiled and placed his hand on Sherlock's. 'Because I am an idiot.'

What did you think? Should it be the last chapter? Let me know! Thank you J


	12. Chapter 12

Thank you for the kind reviews :) And since everyone wanted another chapter…. Read, enjoy and review!

I own nothing and make no profit.

**Chapter 12. Doubt.**

Later, John did not remember what happened after he and Sherlock sat on that couch together. They did not speak, but the silence was not uncomfortable. Somehow, they both went to (their own!) bed and the next morning it was almost like nothing had happened. When John came down in the morning Sherlock was up, running around in the house, working on some experiment, glancing at John and barely greeting him. John had an early shift at the hospital. When he came home Sherlock was examining something under the microscope. He did not talk. He did not move. He was like a statue.

John had some dinner (Sherlock had not responded to his question if he wanted something to eat) and watched television. But he could not relax. He looked at his flat mate every few minutes. Sherlock never looked back, but of course he would notice it. John started to feel more and more uncomfortable so when Lestrade texted if he wanted to join him for a beer he immediately jumped up.

'I'm going out.'

Sherlock's eyes seemed to glance to the wall in front of him for one second, but there came no other response.

'Not a date.' John clarified hastily and clumsy. 'Just a beer. With Lestrade.'

Still no response. John felt his cheeks glow. _This is ridiculous_ he thought. _Maybe I imagined last night…._ He grabbed his coat and left the house.

As soon as Sherlock heard the front door close he relaxed his shoulders. He leaned back in his chair, away from the microscope. John had been uncomfortable. John had been observing him, clearly expecting something from Sherlock. But what? It made the detective anxious to realize he had no idea how to handle the situation.

His phone rang.

He knew who it was without looking. He picked up the phone and answered: 'What do you want, Mycroft?'

While walking to the bar John decided to talk to Greg about the whole situation. No one else would be able to give him any kind of useful advice since they did not know Sherlock.

He had assumed the detective inspector would laugh at him, mock him, make jokes but eventually tell him he had always known Sherlock and John were meant to be more than friends. However, that was not at all his response…

'This is a very bad idea, John.' Greg told him with a serious frown on his face. He had been silent while John told him about the events of the other night. When he was done Greg had stared at him. Stared at the bar. Took a large gulp of beer and then said those words which slapped John in the face.

'What do you mean 'a bad idea'?'

Greg exhaled and put his beer down. 'Well, first of all…' He leaned in to John and almost whispered: 'you're not _gay, _John. You like women!'

John rolled his eyes. 'Thank you, Greg. That's really helpful.' He rubbed his eyes. 'Can't you tell how bloody confused I am about that myself?'

But Lestrade continued: 'Secondly, he is your flat mate, you work together, you are best friends. He is in every aspect of your life. Think about what would happened if this doesn't work out. And it won't work out.'

'What?' John frowned.

'This is _Sherlock _we are talking about.' Greg took his beer again. 'Personally, I am not sure he is capable of that kind of human emotions.'

John got annoyed. 'Well, you don't know him like I do.'

'And I don't want to.'

'Jesus Greg, I thought you could give me some helpful advice.'

Greg put his beer down again and gave John an intense stare. 'I _am _giving you helpful advice, John. My advice is: don't go through with this because it is not really what you want. You are not in love with him; you are just afraid to be without him again. You admire him and he is using that. He is a selfish, lonely man who has never been able to hold on to any kind of relationship. Friends or otherwise. You are the first person to ever like him and stay with him and he needs that. This isn't _love _John! This is some sick kind of co-dependence and I don't want you to destroy yourself this way.'

After this speech John was silent. The men stared at each other without speaking. John didn't know what to say. He wanted to tell Greg he was wrong, but was he…? There was only one person who could clear this up.

John got up from his bar stool and took his coat.

'Where are you going?' Lestrade asked while John put some money on the bar.

'I need to talk to Sherlock.'

And with that, the doctor left.

He walked home. _Damn it_ he thought. What if Lestrade was right? What if this feeling wasn't …._love._ What if this means I am _gay_? John noticed he even had trouble saying this word to himself while thinking about him and Sherlock. So was it only some sick kind of co-dependence, as Lestrade called it? And so what if it was? Co-dependency can be a part of love. What else is love…. Trust, sharing your life, holding hands, kissing, sex… Sex with Sherlock? John shook his head. Let's not go there just yet. What about the rest. Trust and a shared life, they already had that. They had held hands, they had kissed… but only for cases, and yesterday he had kissed his friend purely to shut him up. Right….? Had he liked it? Ever since Sherlock was back John had ignored those feelings, those thoughts, those desires that were hidden deep inside him, locked in a little box he never allowed himself to open. Even now. He couldn't think about it. He needed to hear what Sherlock thought first.

While walking up the stairs of 221b Baker Street John whipped his sweaty hands on his pants. Don't chicken out now, he told himself. They needed to talk and John was going to make sure they did. He walked into the room. Sherlock was still staring in the microscope. Had he not moved at all?

'Sherlock?'

'Hmm?' The detective did not look up.

John took a deep breath. 'Sherlock, about last night….'

Now his friend looked at John. Deducing. His sharp eyes noticed every details about the doctor in seconds. He had talked to Lestrade. The troubled look in his eyes told him the conversation wasn't a good one. Also, he clearly hadn't even finished one beer. He had left in a hurry. Walked home. He was panicking. Panicking about his flat mate confessing his love for him. And about his own confessions. Just like Mycroft had told his brother earlier that evening: 'As soon as he will ask an outsider for advice - and we both know he will – he will be told what I am telling you now: this is a ridiculous mistake that will make you both unhappy. You were not meant for this Sherlock. You can't do it and you know it. Will you really lie to your only friend this way, little brother?'

Sherlock had hung up on Mycroft without answering. Sometimes, his brother managed to verbalize exactly what Sherlock feared, but did not admit to himself. What if he would hurt John? What if John would end up hating him? The thought alone was unbearable.  
All this went through his head in seconds while he looked at his friend and the confused look in his eyes. He should make this easy for him.

'You changed your mind.' Sherlock made it sound like a statement, not a question, before looking into the microscope again.

John put his hands on the chair in front of his and looked at the table. 'I don't know, Sherlock. We need to talk about this.'

'Why?' Sherlock responded immediately. 'You say you don't know. That tells me enough.' He glanced at John before adjusting the microscope.

John looked even more confused now. And there was something else… was he hurt? Angry?

'Look John…' Sherlock leaned with his elbows on the table. 'Let's forget last night ever happened. It's clearly not _all fine_.' He tried to make voice sound honest, but inside he felt like heat and pain were stabbing him. _Please, John, tell me I'm wrong._

But John didn't tell him he was wrong. Instead he let go of the chair and took a step backwards, away from Sherlock. He softly said: 'No. No, it is clearly not…'

He turned to the hallway. 'Good night Sherlock.'

'Good night John.'

John went upstairs. Once in his bed he tried to figure out how he felt about this. Relieved? Maybe it was for the best. Sherlock had let the whole thing go so easy… painfully easy. He couldn't possibly have real feelings for John.

John tried to tell himself he also had no real feelings for the detective. Lestrade was right: he was not gay, he was just afraid to lose Sherlock again. He didn't want a relationship with him. A relationship…. With Sherlock…

John couldn't stop his thoughts from wondering… What if he could kiss Sherlock whenever he wanted? Like when he gave everyone that smug smile after he a solved a case, but then beamed at John, waiting for his expressions of admiration. Or when he slept on the couch. Or when he was still and grave over his microscope. Or when it was warm and he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, top buttons open… John thought about Sherlock taking his hand during the case in the elementary school. How his touch had felt like electricity and made his cheeks glow. How they held hands all the way home…. What if they could do that whenever they wanted? What if Sherlock would say again that he loved him… A warm wave of emotions came over John and he felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. Lestrade was wrong. He _did _want to go through with this. John jumped out of his bed. Knowing Sherlock he would simply delete last night from his hard-drive and never think about it again. John had to act now. Now that he still had the courage.

He yanked the bedroom door open and wanted to run out, but he tripped over something in the corridor. Something large. Something soft but firm, covered in a blue dressing-gown. John went face down to the floor, but managed to put his hands down first to break his fall.

'What the hell?' He yelled while looking what he had tripped over.

'Sorry.' Said a deep voice.

John sat up. 'Sherlock?'

'Who else?' It was too dark to see his face clearly, but John knew that Sherlock gave him an annoyed look while making that sarcastic comment.

'What are you doing up here?' John asked.

'I came up, hopefully for the same reason you were going down.'

They both sat on the wooden floor of the corridor. It was cold but John didn't feel it.

'And what reason is that?' His voice was calm but he felt like a tennis ball was bouncing of his ribs.

'Don't be stupid, John, you know the reason.'

'Don't be smart, Sherlock, just tell me.'

'I thought….' Sherlock started, 'that maybe we were a bit… hasty, earlier tonight.'

John frowned. 'And you were sitting in front my bedroom door because….?'

Sherlock shifted uneasily. 'I was considering the options.'

'Which options?'

'Really John, this is getting annoying. Stop playing dumb.' Sherlock was annoyed again.

John looked at his flat mate. They were only a meter apart, on the floor of the dark corridor, in their pajama's. He suddenly realized how ridiculous they must look to others, and how much he liked being this ridiculous with Sherlock. How much he liked Sherlock…. He smiled, but the detective seemed to have missed his friends' epiphany.

'Obviously this is pointless. I'm going to bed.' Sherlock started getting up, putting one hand on the wall next to John to push himself up. John responded, without thinking, by grabbing Sherlock's free hand and pulling the detective to him. John pressed his lips against Sherlock's. He felt how his friend tried to shift his weight to lean into the kiss, but he lost his balance and pulled John down on the floor with him. John hit his head on the wooden floor and heard how Sherlock fell next to him. They were laying on their back on the floor. John laughed. Despite the pain on his head. The sound of John's high pitch laugh, the silly one, the one Sherlock knew meant he was really happy, made Sherlock laugh too.

John got up. 'Bedtime.'

'Yes.' Sherlock got up too and turned to go down the stairs.

'Where are you going?' He heard behind him. He turned around and saw John in the door opening. Sherlock gave him a confused look. 'What do you mean?'

John smiled. 'I mean you should sleep here. With me. For a genius you can be a real idiot sometimes.'

Sherlock stood hesitantly in the corridor. 'John….ehm… I don't know how….'

'You don't know what? How to sleep? I suspected that.' John's eyes twinkled playful at Sherlock.

The men stared at each other without speaking for a few seconds. Then Sherlock walked passed John into the bedroom. 'Are you coming or will you be sleeping standing up against the doorpost?'

Thank you so much for reading. Please let me know what you think and if and how I should continue! Thanks :)


	13. Chapter 13

Hi all! Thanks a million for reading and reviewing! I love it!

This chapter is a bit short, but more will follow soon! Enjoy!

**Chapter 13.**

The next morning, John woke up alone.

The night had started awkwardly when they were lying in bed next to each other. Starring uncomfortably at the celling. But then Sherlock had cleared his throat and said: 'John, do you remember when I did the intimacy-experiment?'

John had smiled, rolled to his side and allow Sherlock to settle in his arms. John had stroke his hair until he fell asleep. He was sure he had fallen asleep smiling. It was thus all the more awkward to wake up alone…

When he came down Sherlock was sitting at the breakfast table with the paper.

'Good morning John.' He said without looking up.

John had an unpleasant déjà vu to the morning before. He stood in the middle or the room, looking at the detective and weighing his options. Then he decided to make the move he knew Sherlock would never make…

'Good morning Sherlock.' And he walked over, pulled the paper down with one hand and kissed the detective swiftly on his lips. Then he turned and sat down at his usual chair facing his friend. Sherlock was staring surprised at him over his paper, but John tried to ignore it and took a piece of toast. 'Anything interesting in the news today?'

It took Sherlock a few more seconds to recover, but then he answered: 'Nothing of importance.'

'Hmm. Pass the jam.'

Sherlock handed him the jar. Their fingers touched. John smiled.

Sherlock folded the paper and put it on the table. He observed how the doctor put butter and jam on his toast.

'John?'

'Yes?'

'We need rules.'

John did not look up from this toast. 'Rules for what?'

Sherlock cleared his throat. 'Rules for this.'

His friend did not understand, so the detective tried again: 'Rules for us. For how things should be between us now.'

John swallowed his toast which had suddenly became like dry paper in his mouth.

'Okay…..' He said tentatively. 'What kind of rules do you have in mind?'

Sherlock leaned forward, placing his fingertips together and looked pensively at the table.

'First of all: no pet names.'

'Pet names?' John frowned.

Sherlock sighed in annoyance. 'Yes John, pet names. Sweety, honey, poo beer and more of those awful comparisons to baby animals, Disney characters, candy or other things involving sugar I've heard how you call your girlfriends over the years.'

'I _know _what pet names are, Sherlock.' John snapped, trying to hide his blush when he thought of calling Sherlock any of those names.

Sherlock pretended not to notice. 'So you can agree to this rule?'

'Fine, whatever.'

'Good. Then here is number two: no more seducing me when I am on a case.'

John huffed. 'How many rules are there?' Then he looked up at Sherlock. 'What do you mean "no _more_ seducing you"? When have I ever seduced you during a case?' He put down his toast. 'When have I ever seduced you _at all_?'

Sherlock avoided the doctors eyes. 'Irrelevant. Do you agree to the rule?'

But John did not let go that easily. 'Only if you tell me when and how I seduced you.' He teased.

The detective was obviously embarrassed but refused to yield.

'Fine. Forget the rule.' He wanted to pick up the paper again, but John quickly put his hand on his friends' arm. 'I'm sorry Sherlock.' He tried to sound sincere and hide his amusement about the situation. 'I accept the rule, but some time you will have to explain to me how I seduce you because apparently I do it unconsciously.'

Sherlock snorted. 'Alright, I will. Do you have any rules you would like to suggest?'

'Hmm…' John leaned back in his chair, giving the detective an playful investigative look. 'Let's see…. A rule…'

Again, Sherlock was insulted and slightly embarrassed. 'John, if you won't take this seriously..-'

But the doctor interrupted him: 'No using me for experiments. No shutting me out of plans. We are partners and I want to be involved.'

They looked at each other from over the table for a few seconds before Sherlock looked away, took the paper and said: 'Agreed.'

'I have one more.' John said with a serious frown while he took the paper out of the detective's hands. 'No demeaning comments about me in front of others, or while we are alone for that matter. We are in a relationship so you should treat me as an equal, not as an easy target because you happened to know me better than anyone else.'

Sherlock gave him a surprised look. He opened his mouth to respond but there were so many elements in that last sentence he had questions about that he did not know where to start. He decided to go chronologically: 'A relationship?'

John unfolded the paper. 'Yes Sherlock. That's what this is called. Any objections to that?'

'No…'

John smiled at him. 'Good.'

'You feel like I use my knowledge of you as an easy way to mock or humiliate you?'

John glanced at him from the paper. 'You _are _doing that Sherlock.'

'No I am not.'

'Yes you are.' John said without taking his eyes of the paper.

Sherlock huffed while reaching for the jam. 'I think I would know if I did that.'

'You would think so, wouldn't you.' John flipped to the next page.

The detective was puzzled. Obviously John meant it. However, he did not seem angry or upset at all. He was clearly acting like he didn't care while making eyes at the detective from behind the paper. Strange. Why would the doctor have stayed with him all this time if he didn't like the way Sherlock treated him? Why didn't he get angry? It made no sense to the detective.

Clearly, John had seen his friends' confusion because he said: 'It's called love, Sherlock. Look it up in the dictionary.' He winked at him.

Then Sherlock said: 'I agree.'

Now it was John's turn to look confused. 'You agree to what?'

Sherlock got up to get more tea. 'I agree to the rule, John. Do keep up.'

Thanks for reading! As always: leave your thoughts! I am writing this story for you so your opinion is very much appreciated!


	14. Chapter 14

Hi readers! Thank you so much for all the great reviews, follows and favorites! It makes my day!

Enjoy the next chapter! Sorry it's short!

**Chapter 14.**

In the weeks that followed John and Sherlock's relationship developed into something they were both getting more and more comfortable with. On John's request they had not told anyone. Sherlock had protested at first…

('Your unwillingness to disclose the change in our relation can be either because you are ashamed of being in a homosexual relationship, or because you are ashamed of being in said relationship with _me, _thereby confirming all the jokes and comments people have previously made about your feelings for me.'

'I am not ashamed of anything Sherlock!'

'Then why are we not telling anyone? Not that I suspect anyone to be interested.'

'Because it's _personal._ And new and….'

'And what? Uncertain?'

'No! Let's just keep it between us for a while because I ask you to.' )

… but it had all worked out fine for him as well. At crime scenes he could not be close to John or even look at him because he had discovered – to his great annoyance – that his presence was too distracting.

Sherlock had never seen the need to express his feelings for anyone (friend, family or lover) openly through touching, kissing or other displays of affection, so he and John acted pretty much as they always had around each other in public. It seemed like no one had noticed anything, though Lestrade had observed their behavior closely during their first case after his awkward conversation with John. But both the detective and his blogger had mostly ignored him, so he seemed to have come to the conclusion that John must have followed his advice.

At home however, things had changed. On nights that Sherlock felt like sleeping he would go to bed at the same time John did and wait for the other man to gently pull him in his arms.

So far, nothing sexual had happened between them. For John, that was because he was still a bit too awkward with the whole situation and he wasn't sure if he felt comfortable enough to take it to the next level. Despite that, he did discover his body responded to being close to Sherlock, touching him, and especially when Sherlock would put a hand on his chest and kiss him good night….

For Sherlock, the reason that nothing had happened was purely because he had no idea how to start it. The few sexual encounters he has had were always initiated by the other. No cuddling, slow kissing or years of friendship had preceded it. Most of it were one night stands - one was actually for a case - and, since the only pleasurable result was an orgasm, Sherlock never saw the need to try the same experience again with the same person. He was quite sure it would be different with John, and he _wanted _it to be different. But because of that, he had no idea how to initiate it.

And so they just slept.

At home, John enjoyed little domestic couple-things like sitting on the couch with the detective. He would read and Sherlock would put either his head or his feet on the doctor's lap and complain about being bored. At times, he would ask John random questions which in the beginning had caught the doctor off guard ('What do you mean "tell me about your first sexual experience?" Sherlock, this better not be for a case because you'd be breaking the rules!'), but after a while he just answered, sometimes even without looking up from his paper. Often Sherlock's questions were an opportunity to learn more about him too by asking "What about you?" after answering.

Most of the time, they had no problem sticking to the rules. Only one time, at a crime scene, Sherlock pointed out an essential element of the cause of death which led to the killer, after which John said: 'How could I have missed that?' to which Sherlock automatically responded: 'Because you're an idiot.'

John gave him a shocked stare after which Sherlock swallowed and said: 'Sorry John, that was uncalled for.'

John responded with a 'Thank you, Sherlock.' and tried not gloat at Lestrade, Donovan and Anderson whose jaws had dropped to the ground at Sherlock's apology. The last two stayed too baffled to say anything for the rest of the examination, which the detective found so pleasing he speculated about extent of their inability to speak if he would kiss John in front of them. John laughed until he found out Sherlock wasn't kidding, then he suggested to see the response if he would slap Sherlock in the face after he had kissed him. Sherlock missed the sarcasm ('Why would you do that? I highly doubt such a response would render them speechless!').

Whenever Sherlock had a case, John would keep his distance. He had not pushed the detective for an explanation of how he was seducinghim, so he just tried make himself scarce.

One evening, Sherlock spent hours on the couch with his arms wrapped around his legs reconstructing a triple homicide in order to find some element he must have missed. John brought him some food and tea but it went cold untouched. He had not spoken to the detective and silently wrote some emails and updated his blog.

After doing the dishes John decided to go to bed at ten thirty. It was so early he doubted he could really sleep, but the silence in the flat was unbearable. However, it was nothing compared to fighting his urge to sit next to his friend, pull him in his arms and make him repeat what he knows about the case while John would stroke his hair. He would not be able to help with solving the problem, but it frustrated John to no end that Sherlock was completely in his own world, not noticing the doctor at all.

'I'm going to bed.'

He must have heard it, but Sherlock gave no response whatsoever, so John went upstairs. He had some trouble falling asleep, but around midnight he finally dozed off, only to awake again half an hour later by a warm body sliding into the bed. John wanted to turn to his other side to face Sherlock, but the detective stopped him. 'No, stay like that.' He whispered.

'Did you solve the case?' John asked.

'No.'

'Then…. why are you here? Not that I mind.' He quickly added.

He felt Sherlock move slightly behind him. 'I found that… I can think better when I am near you.'

'What about the distraction? What about me _seducing _you?'

Sherlock snorted. 'You're practically asleep, John. You were snoring two minutes ago and you're wearing your oldest army-shirt. Not exactly a turn-on.'

John sighed. 'Just go to sleep Sherlock.'

'You know I can't sleep while I am on a case.'

'Well, then, good luck with that. I'm going to sleep.'

'Of course you are. I don't require your assistance.'

John took a deep breath. 'Good night Sherlock.'

'Good night John.'

Within minutes the doctor was back asleep. Sherlock lay motionless behind him, their bodies were barely touching.

He had lied about two things. First of all, the old army t-shirt was his favorite. It was soft, it smelled like John and it fitted him perfectly. And secondly, he _did _required the doctor's assistance…Very slowly, without waking him, Sherlock put his arm around John. The slow motions of his bloggers' breathing were almost hypnotic and Sherlock's now calm mind went back to case. It was solved within an hour.

Thanks for reading! Please please leave a review!

Next there should be some sex… no? ;) But first I want to write about the responses of others when they find out…. What do you think?


	15. Chapter 15

Thank you all so much for the nice comments and reviews! It was very helpful to hear your ideas for the story! I hope it is living up to your expectations!

Enjoy the next chapter!

**Chapter 15**

The first time it happened was after a case. John and Sherlock had been under cover in a bar to get a confession out of a criminal. They both got slightly tipsy. All the way home they were laughing at the felon's stupidity and complimenting each other on their acting.

'Honestly Sherlock, when you tossed that first shot down your throat like you did it every day I had a problem staying in character!' John said while getting his keys out of his pocket. Sherlock leaned against the doorpost and grinned at him.

'What do you think, John? That because I don't go to your drinking-dates with Lestrade I don't know how to consume alcohol?'

'Those…. Those are not dates…' John swallowed. Normally when Sherlock made a comment like that it was in a condescending tone. Not smiling and playful and almost… seductive… He quickly looked away and focused on opening the door.

While Sherlock climbed the stairs behind his friend he said: 'You surprised me too with your acting talents, John. Getting him to trust you and start talking to you in minutes….'

They arrived at their floor. John opened the door for the detective. While passing Sherlock said to him: 'I couldn't keep my eyes of you.'

John felt suddenly hot. His cheeks were flush. He turned around, closed the door and while turning back he started to say something to Sherlock, but the detective cut him off by kissing him hard on the lips. First, John was startled and unsure how the react. But then, Sherlock pushed him against the door and pressed his body against him. It was like John's mind shut down. His body took over and responded.

Lips. Tong. Teeth. Hands everywhere….

The doctor felt a need for Sherlock like heat radiating through his body. When the detective moaned he grabbed him and pulled him closer, even though that was hardly possible.

He wanted him. So much. Right then and there.

But for some reason, when Sherlock's hands wondered underneath his sweater and touched his skin his mind switched back on.

_Are you sure? _Said a nagging voice in his head.

Sherlock's hand was sliding over his back, down to the waist of his jeans.

_You can't go back._

Two warm hands on his back. One finger tentatively wondered under the jeans.

_You'll be gay, John…._

Sherlock grabbed the waist of John's jeans and pulled him closer.

_Sex with a man… and not just any man….. with Sherlock. _

The detective unbuttoned John's pants, without stopping the intense kiss.

_Everything will change after this._

A hand went down from John's belly… under the band of his boxer… going lower…

'Wait.' John put his hands on Sherlock's chest and gently increased the space between them. Sherlock immediately removed his hand.

'What's wrong?' He was panting. _Oh God, that's even more of a turn on than the kiss!_

'I…I…' John had some trouble catching his breath too. Why did he stop this again?

'I just think…' Sherlock was still so close to him. His grey eyes staring intensely at the doctor.

'I just think we shouldn't be doing this for the first time when we're drunk.' He lied.

'John….' Sherlock looked confused. 'We are hardly drunk. Taking into consideration the amount of alcohol we consumed tonight; my addiction history; and your regular drinking-nights with Lestrade or Mike Stamford; I have to conclude we are hardly even affected.'

'Yes, well, anyway…' John ducked from under the detective's embrace and took a few steps into the room. 'I don't want to do _this _like this.'

Sherlock looked at him. Deducing, no doubt. John avoided his stare.

'Alright.' Sherlock said. 'As you wish.'

'Thank you.'

There was an uncomfortable silence.

John took a deep breath. 'Tea?'

Sherlock turned and flung himself on the couch. 'Yes please.'

While John was busy in the kitchen Sherlock reconstructed what had just happened… He and John had kissed. Passionately. He felt like it was something his body had longed for since the first time he slept in John's arms. He wanted John in a physical way. In a sexual way. Interesting….

But even more interesting was John's rejection of the situation. He had obviously lied about fearing the situation was induced or affected by their state of intoxication, since Sherlock knew John's tolerance for alcohol was remarkable. So why did he lie? It was not because he was not physically attracted to Sherlock; all the signs of arousal had been there. So it was something else, something more personal. John was obviously going through some sort of inner struggle regarding the sexual element of his relationship with Sherlock.

The detective decided not to push the issue. Partly because he didn't want to make John uncomfortable by confronting him with his lie. But mostly because Sherlock had no idea how to have a conversion which would clearly be evolving around _feelings, _and be forced to analyze or advice about an area of human emotions he was very unfamiliar with.

So he just said 'Thank you John' when the doctor gave him tea, and they watched television together in silence. Slightly awkward silence…

The second time it happened no alcohol was involved. John had come home from a long shift at the hospital. He had bend over the couch, kissed Sherlock on his lips and said: 'I'm going to take a shower before I start dinner.'

While he was walking towards the bathroom Sherlock said: 'I'm not hungry.' in an attempt to give his friend an easy way out of the cooking, but John didn't take it. 'No way, Sherlock. You're eating tonight!' He kicked off his shoes. 'And I'm cooking anyway because I am starving!' he added.

Sherlock waited until he heard water running, and then jumped to his feet and hurried into the kitchen. John usually made pasta when he was tired and hungry, because it was fast and easy to make. Sherlock put some water in a pan and read the backside of the pasta-box. This could not be too difficult for the world's only consulting detective…. Right?

When John came out of the shower, in his bathrobe and slippers, he smelled tomato sauce. And something else… pasta? No… Burned pasta?

'Sherlock, what are you doing?'

The detective looked up from the pan. He had rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt and his face was sweaty from the hot steam. 'I'm making you dinner.'

John suppressed a chuckle. 'Thank you. How is it going?'

'Well….' Sherlock uneasily run one hand through his dark curls. 'I didn't turn out as I hoped…'

John smiled widely. The detective looked adorably clumsy in the kitchen. And somehow… sexy… all hot and sweaty and ruffled hair….

'What?' Sherlock asked. But John shook his head. 'Nothing.' He walked into the kitchen and kissed Sherlock. 'Nothing, just… this is really sweet..'

'You're.. welcome..' Sherlock murmured between kisses.

He noticed how good John smelled. He wrapped his arms around the doctor without breaking the kiss. Johns hands were in his hair, pulling it softy as their tongues met. Sherlock pressed John close to him and felt John was thinking the same thing…. With one hand he fidgeted on the knot holding John's bathrobe closed. When he undone it and the bathrobe fell open John suddenly pulled away. Holding his robe with one hand.

'Slow down.' The doctor was flushed and clearly aroused, but he avoided Sherlock's eyes.

'Why, John? What's wrong?'

John turned and re-tied his robe. He didn't answer. Sherlock took a deep breath and leaned on the kitchen table. 'What. Is. Wrong. John.'

'I just…' John looked at the ground. He was obviously embarrassed.

'It's just... what?' Sherlock spat at him. 'You don't want this?'

'You know that's not it.' John frowned at him, but Sherlock was really angry.

'Do I? This is the second time you jump away from me as soon as I touch you.'

'I just…' John started again helplessly. 'I think I just need a bit more time.'

Sherlock hissed: 'Time for what? So you're _gay_! Get over it, _doctor.' _

'Just be a bit patient with me, Sherlock!' John yelled at him. 'God knows I've been patient with you!'

'Oh please,' Sherlock sneered. 'Ever since the start of this relationship I've been doing everything your way.' He yelled at the doctor. 'I don't know what we're doing here either, but at least I am sure I want to be with you! I really _try _to make this work John, but it's not helping if you keep rejecting me.' He stormed passed John to the couch.

'I'm not rejecting you!' John heard his voice sounding higher than normal.

They stayed like that for several minutes: Sherlock laying on the couch with his back to the room, and John leaning on the kitchen table and staring at it as if the answer was written there.

Then John turned and walked into the living room. He stood in front of the couch. Sherlock was ignoring him.

'I am not rejecting you.' He repeated, in his normal voice.

There was no response. John sunk down on the couch by Sherlock's feet.

He started quietly: 'I just don't know what to expect from _this. _From _us_. I don't know what _you _expect and I am worried I will disappoint you.' Bloody hell, this was embarrassing. He spoke so softly Sherlock could hardly hear him. 'I really want to make this work too… I want to be with you.' He sighed and rubbed his face. 'And maybe I also have some difficulties with being gay… yes.'

Sherlock turned slightly towards his friend. 'You're not gay, John. You like women. And me.' They glanced at each other.

'I'm really sorry I hurt your feelings, Sherlock.'

The detective sat up next to John. 'I will wait until you're ready, John. I promise I will no longer try to undress you or touch your… private parts.' He said it in such a serious way that it made John giggle. Sherlock gave one of his deep, toothless smiles. 'So, how about some dinner?'

'Are you still not hungry?' John asked without looking at him.

'You know I'm not hungry. But you are, right?'

'Hmmm…' John took his friends' hand and played with it. 'I've lost my appetite.'

Sherlock did not understand. 'John?'

'How about trying something?' The doctor smiled sheepishly at Sherlock, who still did not follow. 'Like what?'

'Like a way for us to get close without….' He hesitated, but Sherlock did not: 'Sex?'

'Yes.' John blushed.

'Interesting. Go on.'

'I'll show you. Come.' John stood up from the couch and walked towards the bathroom. 'Care for a shower?'

The detective got up from the couch and watched John disappear into the bathroom. 'But….' Sherlock started, 'you just took one.'

John did not answer but threw his bathrobe at his friend..

Sherlock did not need a lot more to deduce the situation. 'Oh I see….. Interesting.'

Thanks so much for reading! Please leave a review! This story can go anyway you like! Just let me know :)


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